


Ceasefire

by Nahiel



Series: Evil Author Day 2018 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Forced Marriage, Incomplete, M/M, Mpreg, Read at Your Own Risk, slowly, that moves to a healthy one, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 21:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahiel/pseuds/Nahiel
Summary: The war between the Light and the Dark is an unmitigated disaster, and in the end, Voldemort cannot win, but is unable to be defeated despite all of Harry's best efforts.  A ceasefire is called, the details of which Harry doesn't know, but he does know that he's been forcibly bonded and wed to Draco Malfoy, in a public ceremony that was horrifying, and now he's stuck in the middle of nowhere with a house elf who hates him, getting sicker and sicker, and he doesn't quite know why.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a part of my Evil Author Day set for 2018 (Evil Author Day being an event started by one of my favorite writers, wherein works are posted incomplete in all their incomplete glory). It may never be finished, and as such, is a read at your own risk. It is posted here, unedited, in all of its glory. Please do not ask me for updates regarding this story, or any other story in the Evil Author Day series.

The only thing Harry wanted to do was pull his hand away as the white ribbon was tied around his wrist, but he didn’t dare move.  Too much was riding on his cooperation, no matter how little he wanted to give it.  The feeling of fear, of a desperate need to flee, only intensified when the other end of the ribbon was tied around Draco Malfoy’s wrist.

 

The Malfoy heir looked positively resplendent in his severe black robes, standing tall with his back straight and his chin jutted out in arrogance.  He didn’t flinch when Voldemort bound his hand to Harry’s, nor did he look at Harry.  It was like he didn’t care at all that they were about to be bound together for the rest of their lives in holy matrimony.

 

Or whatever passed for it with wizards.

 

It wasn’t what Harry wanted out of life, but he’d learned very quickly that his wants never mattered.  It had been one of the first things he’d learned from the Dursleys, a lesson reinforced during every tired year he spent in his cupboard.  He’d thought that maybe things would be different at Hogwarts, and for a while they had been.  Then the war had started with Voldemort’s resurrection in Harry’s fourth year, and suddenly what Harry wanted was unimportant.  

 

He’d gone into training, spent hour after hour learning spell after spell, all for a war that he was expected to win as soon as he could.  He’d been pulled from Hogwarts and given special instruction by the Ministry.  While he did his best to fight, and he did do his best in spite of the fact that he didn’t want to be a weapon, the war had worsened, and so many people had died.  Most of Harry’s friends, not that they’d stayed his friends once he’d begun his training, had survived, but that was something of an anomaly.

 

The fact was that nobody could kill Voldemort, not even Harry, no matter how many times he tried.  And he tried, he tried more than anyone could have reasonably expected.  And when every attempt that Harry made was met with failure, Voldemort’s power grew just a little bit more.  The situation was nightmarish, and Harry’s inability to do his job properly was what led him here, today, doing this thing that he so desperately didn’t want to do.

 

A ceasefire, between the Light and Dark in the war.  The Dark would leave,would take all of their wealth and their prestige and their pureblood selves and go to a previously agreed upon location, along with every supporter they had.  Harry didn’t know where it was; Dumbledore had thought it a security risk for Harry to learn anything of his new home.  Ties would be severed between the worlds, with immigration to be determined at a later date should the issue arise.  And Harry was going with the Dark, as a symbol of their victory and as a way of ensuring that the Light held up their end of the bargain.

 

Harry tuned out the ceremony.  He knew that he was promising things that he’d only ever wanted to promise to someone he loved, and knew that he was honor bound to follow through with those promises as best as he could.  He didn’t want to live the rest of his life with someone who hated him, and there was a small part of him that sincerely believed that Malfoy could come to at least be friends with him in the long run.

 

It was probably little more than a dream, but he clung to it all the same.

 

The ceremony completed with a flare of magic that left Harry breathless and shook even Malfoy’s unshakable countenance.  Then came the even worse part.  The consummation.

 

Harry had assumed that it would be handled the way that Muggles did, and he had been horrified to find out that he was wrong.  Sex magic was apparently a thing that purebloods practiced in rituals, and his marriage to Malfoy would be sealed with it.  That meant that they would be watched as the marriage was consummated, as Malfoy… had him.

 

It wasn’t the worst thing in Harry’s life, aside from the fact that he didn’t want it, didn’t love Malfoy, and was almost certain that Malfoy didn’t want him either.  Malfoy did his duty, though, and was almost nice about it.  His touches were gentle, and stirred a fire within Harry that he’d never felt before and wasn’t sure that he ever wanted to feel again.  It was frightening and overwhelming and in the end Harry was glad when it was over because the entire thing had been terrifying.  It hadn’t hurt, it had… it might have felt good if Harry had been given any idea of what to expect beforehand.

 

And if the feelings from the consummation weren’t enough, the bond blooming open between the two of them was even worse.  Suddenly Harry could feel things from Malfoy, things that he didn’t have any interest in feeling, like his resentment and the seething hatred inside of him that told Harry there was absolutely no chance of ever befriending Draco Malfoy.

 

Then, as the dominant partner in their marriage, Malfoy shut off the bond.  The sudden loss of the extra emotions, no matter how negative they’d been, left Harry trembling and reeling and dazed as he was roughly grabbed by the waist and Apparated to his new home, wherever it was.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The new house was spacious, but Harry scarcely had any time to marvel over the size of it before Malfoy was practically dragging him into the gorgeous building.  It was massive, easily as large as Hogwarts itself, and Harry found himself tripping along as he tried to take in some of it.

 

He didn’t get much of a chance as he was escorted to a suite in one of the upper floors (Harry had lost count of the number of flights they’d gone up), towards the back of the house.  He was shoved through the doors, but gently so as not to make him trip, and Malfoy followed him through.

 

“These are your rooms,” Malfoy said, every word cold and clipped.  “My parents will be in residence here, and we will entertain guests quite frequently.  You are not expected to join us in these efforts, and are, in fact, encouraged to stay away.  You have a house elf to attend to your needs.  His name is Tally and he will take excellent care of you.”

 

Harry glanced around the room and swallowed.  It was an awfully beautiful room, looked like it belonged more in a museum than anywhere else, and he didn’t know that he wanted to live in it.  It was large, airy, and Harry was afraid that he’d ruin one of the lovely pieces of pristinely white furniture if he so much as looked at it oddly.

 

“Do you have any questions?” Malfoy asked, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but here.

 

Harry cleared his throat.  Maybe… maybe there was a chance that they could make this work.  He still wanted a family, after all, so maybe…  “Would…”  He stopped and took a deep breath, remembering the hatred that had blasted into him in the brief seconds that the bond had been open.  “Dinner?” he finally managed to squeak out.

 

“You’ll take your meals in your rooms, and you are encouraged not to leave your rooms unless you absolutely need to speak to one of us,” Malfoy said, sounding utterly bored. “Tally can find you things to keep you busy.  There are books to read, enough that I’m sure you’ll never run out.”  Then Malfoy’s lip curled into a sneer.  “You might even learn something.”

 

“I meant-”  Harry cut off.  What did it matter what he’d meant?  Malfoy had made his situation painfully clear in the brief conversation.  “Never mind,” Harry said quietly.  “Thank you for your time.”

 

“Let Tally know if you have any questions,” Malfoy said, then turned and left the suite, leaving Harry all alone.

 

He looked around slowly, wondering if he dared to even touch the couch that looked almost sinfully comfortable.  After a moment’s consideration, he decided that he didn’t. Instead, he chose to spend the next few minutes exploring his suite.  The sitting room was first, beautiful and terrifying in whites and pale blues, with a large window that, upon further investigation, was actually a door leading out onto a small balcony.

 

Harry spent several moments out there, breathing in the fresh air and wondering if he could figure out where he was.  All he could see, though, was the rushing water close by. They were on a coast, and he had a perfect view of the ocean.  At least he was pretty sure that it was the ocean, given how overwhelmingly large it was.  It didn’t look like a lake, at least.

 

He left the balcony behind and headed further into his rooms, finding a study dominated by a large wooden desk and filled to the brim with books.  He looked at a few of them, finding several that he would be interested in reading.  Malfoy was at least right about that.  He could probably spend days just working his way through the books already in his suite, not to mention whatever other books the Malfoys had on hand.  Hermione would have been in paradise with access to so many different books, Harry thought.  At least, she would have before the war.  He wasn’t sure if she’d lost her obsessive thirst for knowledge, given that he hadn’t seen her in person for over three years.

 

The bedroom was as gorgeous as every other room he’d explored so far, with a bed large enough to fit ten of him comfortably, or so it seemed.  It, too, was light and airy and open, with massive windows taking up the far side of the wall that showed him a completely different view.  Either they were enchanted or he was in a corner suite.  Harry supposed that it didn’t matter, and instead of trying to figure out where he was in the mansion he ran hesitant fingers over the blanket on top of the bed.  It was plush and smooth and felt more expensive than anything he’d ever touched in his life.  Again, it was far too nice for someone like him, and Harry felt certain that he would ruin it.

 

There were three doors in the bedroom other than the door he entered through.  One led to a walk in closet that was bigger than the Dursley’s old house.  It was filled with clothing, all of it of the same quality as his old dress robes from the tournament.  There wasn’t a t-shirt or pair of jeans to be found in the entire closet.  And none of the clothes were his.  He could remember packing his things, but none of them had made their way here.

 

Harry’s eyes widened in sudden fright as a thought hit him.  “Tally!” he called out, before he could stop himself.

 

A house elf appeared before him, a stern looking little thing that wasn’t at all reminiscent of the elves he’d known in the past.  “Master Halfblood calls?” the elf asked, his little lips curling in disdain.

 

Harry flinched.  “Sorry,” he said quickly.  “I just… what happened to my things?”  To his trunk that had his only pictures of his parents, and the cloak that had been passed down from his father, and all the letters that Sirius had ever sent him, hidden carefully away so as not to be found by anyone else?

 

Tally’s sneer deepened.  “It is in storage,” the house elf said severely.  “Clothes were unsuitable, so it stays in storage.”

 

“Can I have it please?” Harry asked, hoping that he didn’t sound as desperate as he knew that he probably did.

 

The elf snapped his fingers and the trunk appeared in the walk-in closet.  “Master Halfblood’s things are safe,” Tally said shortly.  “Does Master Halfblood have anything else to bother Tally with, or is Master Halfblood contented with only wasting five of Tally’s minutes?”

 

“Thank you, Tally,” Harry said around the sudden lump in his throat.

 

Tally disappeared with a pop and Harry found himself sitting on the floor of the walk-in closet, his head in his hands and his eyes closed to hold off the tears that wanted to fall. Even the house elves hated him here.

 

He couldn’t live the rest of his life like this.  What was he going to do?

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Dinner that night was painfully awkward.  Tally brought him his food, then stared at him while he tried to eat it.  The painfully intense gaze would have made it difficult to eat, but even worse was the fact that Harry had never tried the food given to him.  It was strange, and tasted very different, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

 

Still, he didn’t doubt that this place was like the Dursleys.  If he didn’t eat what was given to him, he knew that he wouldn’t get another meal.  So he tried to eat the oddly spiced chicken and noodles, and was grateful to have milk to wash it down with.  It was far too spicy for him.  He’d never in his life eaten anything like it.  The Dursleys didn’t like foreign food, and even if they had, they never would have fed it to Harry.  And it wasn’t served at Hogwarts, either.

 

Harry managed to eat about half of it before his milk was finished and his mouth was still burning.  “Could I… have more milk?” he asked tentatively.  “Or some bread?”  His stomach was still growling, after all, his body not content with the meager portion of the meal that he’d eaten.

 

“Master Halfblood isn’t satisfied with anything, is he?” Tally sneered.  The elf disappeared, and then reappeared with a single slice of plain bread.  He also had a glass of water, which he handed to Harry.

 

Harry took small sips of the water in between bites of food, but it did nothing to help the fire on his tongue.  The bread helped, but that was gone very quickly, in spite of the small bites of it that he took.  Harry didn’t bother to ask for another piece.  “I’m finished,” he said quietly to the elf, even though his stomach was still rumbling in discontent.

 

The elf just sneered at him.  “Wasteful,” he sighed, and clicked his tongue at Harry.  “Master Halfblood wouldn’t want dessert then, would he?  Since he cannot finish his meal.” There was something ugly in his expression, something that said that he knew exactly why Harry couldn’t eat it.

 

Dessert sounded nice, but…  Harry wasn’t going to engage in an argument with a house elf.  “No, thank you,” he said, pretending like he’d been asked.

 

Tally didn’t respond, but instead popped away, leaving Harry alone once more.

 

Harry sighed and lowered his head to rest on his arms.  This was terrible, and it was only the first day.  How could he live the rest of his life like this?  What if… what if he didn’t?  His eyes darted to the balcony, which was unsecured.  If he could just make it out…

 

No.  What would that do to the ceasefire?  If he escaped, would it ruin everyone else’s chance for a good life?  He couldn’t do that to anyone.

 

Harry stood slowly, feeling far older than he actually was.  He took a quick shower, ignoring the massive bathtub with all of its faucets for soaps and perfumes and the like.  He dried off, then slipped into a pair of pajamas from the massive closet.  They were soft and warm and comfortable.  Harry was almost frightened to wonder at how much they might have cost.

 

The bed was cold and lonely when he slid into it, but Harry still closed his eyes and tried to sleep.  It wasn’t like he’d ever shared a bed with anyone, anyway, so he shouldn’t feel too uncomfortable.  But he did.  He couldn’t… he couldn’t seem to drift off.

 

Maybe it was because the room was so empty?  He was the only one there, after all.  That hadn’t been the case in years.  Sure, when he’d spent his summers with the Dursleys he’d slept alone, but that hadn’t been for a long time.  In Hogwarts, he’d been in the dorms and there had always been other people around.  Then, after Hogwarts, during the worst of the war, Harry had slept in rooms with other Order members when he was lucky enough to sleep at all.

 

That had to be the problem.  But what could Harry do about that?  It wasn’t like he had any friends that could come over and visit with him, and he couldn’t imagine Malfoy wanting to be near him.  Tally would laugh at him if he asked the tiny little elf to keep him company, so…

 

So maybe the solution was to move someplace smaller.  He gathered the comforter and several of the pillows that littered the massive bed and moved in the direction of the closet. Yes, it was still massive for a closet, but it was smaller than Harry’s bedroom.  He set himself up on the farthest side from the entrance, hidden beneath some long robes.  It was smaller, more intimate, and Harry found himself relaxing at the perception of safety.

 

Of course he wasn’t any safer here than he was on the bed, but it felt like he was.  Harry closed his eyes and finally managed to drift off to sleep.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Tally hated his nest and dismantled it every morning, but that was okay, because Harry hated Tally.  The elf was deliberately antagonistic and cruel to Harry, and Harry was tired of it.  So he grew more antagonistic with the elf, became cruel in a way he’d never thought possible.

 

He supposed the extended isolation was getting to him.

 

It had been a month since the bonding ceremony, and the only person Harry spoke to was Tally, who hated Harry very much.

 

It didn’t help that this particular morning the sight of his breakfast was making him nauseous.  The eggs were cooked perfectly, just the way he liked them, and the sausage was so hot that it was still sizzling ever so slightly.  The toast was beautifully buttered, but Harry couldn’t stand the sight of any of it.

 

He gagged.  “Take it away,” he begged, and shoved at the plate.

 

“Master Halfblood doesn’t want his favorite breakfast?” Tally asked, sneering.  “Now Master Halfblood is just deliberately wasting Master’s hard-earned money.  Master Halfblood is squandering Master’s wealth,” the elf lamented.  “Would Master Halfblood like some Galleons to toss into the ocean, perhaps?”

 

Harry snapped.  “You know what?  Yes.  I absolutely would.  Give me some Galleons and I will go throw them in the ocean right now,” he snarled.

 

The elf’s head jerked back as though he’d been slapped.  “Master Halfblood is… joking?” the elf tried.

 

“No,” Harry said.  He shook his head and shoved the plate further away from himself so that the smell of the food would hopefully stop making him feel queasy.  “No, Master Halfblood is not joking.  You made the offer, so get me some Galleons that I can throw over the damn balcony!”

 

“Tally does not have access to Galleons,” the elf said primly.  “Tally was being facetious, a fact which a more intelligent Master Halfblood would have known.”

 

“Then take this damned plate and get it out of my face,” Harry snarled.

 

When the elf just blinked at him, Harry lost what was left of his temper.  He picked up the plate, still full of food, and flung it at the elf’s head.  He missed, but only because the plate was heavy and he hadn’t actually expected it to be.  The plate shattered upon impacting the ground, and ceramic shards exploded everywhere, along with bits of food.

 

Harry sat in his seat, panting, as the rest of his rage drained away like it had never been.  He stared at the mess he’d made and tears suddenly sprang to his eyes.  The elf was right. He was wasteful, shamefully so.  All that good food, and he’d just thrown it away.  Literally.  What had he been thinking?  Who knew when his next meal would be?  Surely Tally would retaliate.

 

But the elf did no such thing.  He snapped his tiny little fingers and the mess disappeared.  The elf stared at Harry for several long seconds, then he was gone as well.

 

Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands.  What was wrong with him?  He knew better than that.  He knew better than to anger the person responsible for taking care of him.  Hadn’t his time with the Dursleys taught him better than that, anyway?

 

The tears came, and Harry didn’t fight them.  He’d really messed up.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

“Master Halfblood will eat!” Tally was screaming.  It was three months later, and things had gone from bad to worse.  Harry had wrecked many, many more plates, shattered them when Tally didn’t get rid of them fast enough.

 

Harry’s head pounded and the world spun dizzily around him.  His stomach churned at the thought of eating what was in front of him.  “I won’t,” he snarled.  “I can’t!”  He didn’t know why his stomach felt the way it did, but the thought of eating the greasy, fatty meat in front of him was making it even worse.

 

“Master Halfblood will eat or Tally will have to involve Master!”  The elf sounded bitterly angry about that idea.  “Tally has never met someone so ridiculous as Master Halfblood.”

 

“My name is Harry, you stupid, wretched creature!” Harry screamed back at the elf.  He stood up, shoving away from the table.  He staggered as the world tilted around him, but managed to stay on his feet.  “You do whatever you want; I can’t eat that!”

 

He’d tried to force himself to eat a meal like this once, the first meal he’d been served after his first broken plate, and Harry had bitterly regretted it as he’d thrown up over the toilet.  He was never going to make that same mistake again.  So he left the dining area, stumbling more than walking, just barely staying on his feet.  He couldn’t have said why, but lately his balance had been off as well.  

 

He managed to keep to his feet, though, and made it to his nest in the closet.  He’d never adjusted to the bed, though he’d tried several times.  It was too big, too lonely.  At least the closet felt small and safe, and Tally had finally given up on ever winning that battle, so his nest was now fully intact all the time.

 

He curled up and closed his eyes and breathed in, trying to relax.  He was so tired; he hadn’t been sleeping well lately.  It probably had something to do with the fact that he hadn’t been eating well, either.  But resting helped, so Harry kept his eyes closed and breathed slow, deep breaths, and hoped that he would feel better in time for lunch.

 

He couldn’t have said how long had passed when he heard a voice outside of his closet.  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”  The incredulous voice belonged to Malfoy.

 

Harry flinched and sat up, scrambling back as far as he could.  Tally had told.  Tally really had told on him.  Harry didn’t know why, maybe because the elf had threatened it before and had never actually done it, but he’d never expected it.

 

“Tally said that Master Halflbood likes to sleep in the closet,” the elf said, probably repeating what he’d said before Harry had started paying attention.

 

“First of all, Tally should be using his name,” Malfoy said dryly as Harry heard the closet door open.  “And he is aware of that.  Secondly, Tally should most assuredly not be allowing Harry to sleep in a bloody closet when he has a perfectly good bed to use.”

 

“Tally tried!” the elf snapped.  “Master Half… Master Harry is the most difficult human Tally has ever served!”

 

“And I’m sure that none of that has anything to do with the fact that you’ve been calling him Master Halfblood, right?” Malfoy asked.  He sounded almost amused.  “Get out, Tally, and make yourself useful.  I’ll assign another elf to Harry.”

 

Harry peeked through the robes to find Malfoy standing at the entrance to the closet, obviously looking for him.  Harry immediately scooted back as far as he could, but the motion was apparently enough to attract Malfoy’s attention.  Only seconds later, Malfoy had pulled the robes out of the way and was staring down at Harry, eyebrows raised.

 

“What are you doing, Po… Harry?” the Malfoy heir asked, sounding utterly exasperated.

 

“I was sleeping,” Harry said, his voice hoarser than he’d expected it to be.  “You woke me, arguing with my elf.”

 

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”  Malfoy looked around, grimaced, then settled on the floor across from Harry.  “You aren’t eating, and Tally says that you’ve been sleeping in the closet?”

 

Harry looked down.  “Don’t act like you care,” he said.  “I’m aware of my position here.  You just need me to stay alive and in relatively good health.  Where I sleep and skipping a few meals won’t impact the Dark’s position.”

 

“Have you even looked in a mirror lately?” Malfoy asked, incredulous.  “Please, Harry, you’re like a skeleton.  You have bruises under your eyes instead of just shadows.  Are you ill?”

 

Harry shrugged.  “Does it matter?  It’s probably not going to kill me.”

 

Malfoy reached out and touched Harry, using a hand to gently raise Harry’s chin.  Or at least, that had probably been his intention.  As it was, he jerked his hand back seconds after the contact occurred.  Harry shuddered with the loss, because for a second he’d almost not felt ill.

 

“Po… Harry, are you a carrier?” Malfoy asked, his voice going oddly urgent.

 

Harry just stared blankly at him.  “Carrier for what?” he asked, confused.  He didn’t think he carried any diseases, but that would explain why he felt so ill, right?

 

“Carrier for… you don’t know.”  Malfoy laughed, the sound strained.  “Right.  Because why would anybody have ever tested Harry Bloody Potter for something like that.”  He shook his head.  “You need to see a Healer.  Immediately.”

 

He stood, then, and extended a hand to Harry.  Harry looked at it, then deliberately ignored it as he got to his feet.  He wished he hadn’t, then, as the world spun around him and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke up feeling infinitely better than he had when he’d blacked out.  He was warm and his head didn’t hurt, and his vision, when he blinked open his eyes, wasn’t blurry.  His stomach wasn’t churning, either.  The only curious thing was that his pillow seemed to be moving rhythmically, almost like… almost like it was breathing.

 

Harry let out a small, startled noise and craned his neck so that he could see who he was laying on top of.  “Stop that,” a soft voice said, one that Harry recognized.  Malfoy.  He was practically lying on top of Malfoy, for god’s sake.

 

“What happened?” Harry asked, his voice coming out in a croak.  How long had he been unconscious, anyway?

 

“What do you remember?” Draco countered with.  He shifted a bit, then helped Harry to sit up and lean back against him.  It was then that Harry realized that he was shirtless, and that he was lying with his bare skin pressed against Draco’s bare stomach.

 

“I don’t… not much,” Harry said.  He swallowed, hoping to clear his throat a bit.

 

Draco let out a small hum, then handed him a glass of water.  When Harry’s hands shook, Draco lifted his own to help steady it.  “Drink,” Draco said, his voice curiously gentle.

 

That was when Harry realized that he’d opened up the bond between them.  It flowed and thrummed, alive with the feel of Draco’s emotions.  Right now there was a mixture of concern, resentment, and utter frustration.  But there was none of the blinding hatred that Harry had felt when they’d first bonded.  There wasn’t any affection, either, but that was okay.  He could deal with anything other than that absolute hatred.

 

“Sure,” Harry finally said, and let Draco help him drink.  Once the glass was empty, Draco shifted them both again so that Harry was still curled up against him, but was now resting more on the bed than on Draco.  “What happened?” Harry asked again.

 

“Do you remember blacking out in your closet?” Draco asked, and Harry felt the frustration in the bond spike.

 

“I remember,” Harry said.  “What does that have to do with you opening the bond between us?” Harry asked.

 

Again, Harry felt the frustration spike.  “You don’t…”  Draco let out a small, frustrated growl.  “The bond is open because it has to be right now,” Draco said finally.  “Because you’re so sick because you both haven’t been eating, which was the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever heard of someone doing, Potter, and because you need access to my magic right now.”

 

Harry frowned.  “Why?” he asked finally.  He couldn’t deny that he’d felt better since he woke up, because of course he did, but he’d thought it might be because he’d seen a Healer, as Draco had said that he would have to.  He didn’t think it had anything to do with the bond being open.

 

“Do you remember my asking you if you were a carrier?” Draco asked, his voice oddly gentle.  The feelings flowing between them softened, and Harry could now feel something strange, something gentle and sad and… sympathy.  He was feeling Draco’s sympathy.  Or maybe it was pity.  He couldn’t quite tell.

 

“Yes,” Harry said slowly.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, by the way.  As far as I know, I don’t carry any diseases or anything like that.”  Not that he would know if the disease was a Muggle one.  It wasn’t like Petunia and Vernon had done much to take care of him when he was growing up.  He wasn’t even certain if he’d been given all of his vaccinations.

 

“That’s not what’s meant by the term, Potter,” Draco said.  Harry felt him take a deep breath.  “Potter, a carrier is a male who is capable of carrying a child.”

 

The words didn’t sink in at first, and Harry would have thought them a prank when they did except for the fact that he could feel what Draco was feeling, and there was no amusement there.  Harry took a deep breath.  “You’re saying that I’m pregnant,” he said slowly, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Draco said, his voice careful and almost kind.

 

“Oh,” Harry said, his voice tiny.  “I don’t… I don’t…”  He didn’t know what to do with that.  He was pregnant?  Was that… that was a thing?  Why hadn’t anyone told him that was a thing before they’d sacrificed him to the bonding altar with Malfoy?  Why would they let him walk blindly into this?  Why?

 

He didn’t even realize that he was hyperventilating until the world went black around him.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

He woke up still curled up on top of Malfoy, still feeling the other breathing in and out.  He was getting something like concern from Malfoy, whose hands were gently running through his hair, petting him like he was some kind of dog.  Harry wanted to pull away, but some small part of him revelled in the affection.  Nobody had ever…

 

Nobody was ever gentle with him, and it was nice.

 

“You’re sad,” Malfoy said quietly.  “I get that you might not have ever realized that you were capable of having kids, but Potter, this isn’t the end of the world.  Your being a carrier changes so much, and you don’t even realize it.”

 

Harry shook his head, but didn’t make a move to pull away.  The fact was that he was warm and more comfortable than he’d been in forever, and he didn’t feel as alone as he had since he’d arrived at this strange new place.  Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but if Malfoy was willing to be kind to him, if he was willing to try…  Harry would try to.  This was his life, after all, and he was determined not to spend the rest of it as miserably as he’d started.

 

“It does, though,” Malfoy… Draco, whispered.  There was a soft pressure against Harry’s forehead, gentle and slightly damp, and Harry realized that his forehead had just been kissed.

 

Harry couldn’t help the small noise he made, the way that he shifted closer into Draco’s arms, hungry for the small, affectionate touch.  “What does it change?” he asked warily.  If this was all going to go away as soon as he gave birth… and wasn’t that a weird thought?  He was going to give birth.  Harry still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it.

 

“For one thing, I’ll no longer be the last of the Malfoy line,” Draco said gently.  His hands were winding their way through Harry’s hair still, stroking and pulling lightly.  “You know, that’s what I think I was most angry about, was the fact that by marrying you I would no longer be able to continue my family’s line.”

 

Harry shivered.  “You hate me,” he said quietly.  “You hated me then and I’m pretty sure that, no matter what sweet emotions you’re sending me, you hate me now.  What are you going to do, take the baby when it’s born?  Not let me near it?”  The thought, even though he still couldn’t quite believe that he was pregnant, made him ache.

 

“No!”  Draco’s vehement response startled him, and Harry jerked away from him, braced for… for something.  The Dursleys had hated him too, and being yelled at like that by one of them never signalled anything good following.  Draco must have seen something of his thoughts on his face, because his voice gentled.  “I’m sorry,” he said carefully.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

Now that he was no longer in contact with Draco, oddly enough, the dizziness was returning.  “Am I going to need to be touching you for the rest of the pregnancy?” he asked.  He didn’t move to return to Draco’s embrace, and he didn’t address the apology.

 

Draco shook his head, then winced and shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he said honestly.  “We should have been in more contact than we have been for the past four months, and there’s no telling how much of my magic you’ll need to absorb to make up for it.  Please come back,” he added, and opened his arms.

 

It was the strangest thing that Harry had ever seen, stranger even than being forced to marry Draco in the first place.  At least during the ceremony Draco had acted as Harry had expected him to.  This was just weird.  Still, he was dizzy and his head was starting to hurt, so as reluctant as he was, Harry crawled into Draco’s arms and hoped that he wouldn’t regret it.  Immediately, the sick feeling faded and Harry couldn’t help but relax.

 

“I will never take our child from you,” Draco whispered to him, his words soft and gentle.  “You don’t… you haven’t been raised in our culture, Potter, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but you’re the baby’s _mother_.  You hold a position that will never be held by any other person, a position that is… well, quite frankly, it’s almost sacred to most purebloods.  I would never dream of doing anything to violate that position.”

 

Harry relaxed further at the soft, sincere words.  “I would have thought that it would be the father who’s considered sacred,” he muttered, his words slurred.  Now that he was comfortable again, he was finding it hard to stay awake.  Why was he so tired?  Was it because he’d been so sick for the past few months?

 

“The father can’t ever guarantee that he was the actual father,” Draco said.  His voice had softened, evened out, and Harry couldn’t be sure but he thought that maybe Draco was trying to lull him to sleep.  “The mother, though, she cannot be anything other than the mother.  And of course, there are ways of determining paternity, but those ways didn’t always exist.”

 

“Thought wizards were a paternal society,” Harry said.  He nuzzled closer to Draco, his facing coming to rest in the crook of Draco’s neck.  He smelled good, sweet, like mint and vanilla.

 

“We are,” Draco whispered.  His hands were back in Harry’s hair, moving slowly and soothingly.  “But that doesn’t change the fact that we hold our mothers to be sacred,” he breathed.

 

If he said anything else, Harry didn’t hear it.  He’d already drifted off to sleep once more.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

He woke to the sound of a door opening, the instincts of several years of warfare forcing him awake. Harry held himself still, not entirely sure if he considered himself safe or not where he was, and did his best not to tense up.

 

He heard the creak of someone settling into a chair, or at least, that’s what Harry imagined it meant.  Draco’s hand, which had stilled briefly in his hair when the door opened, had continued stroking once more.  

 

“So it’s true then.”

 

The voice wasn’t one that Harry recognized.  It was a woman’s voice, or at the very least, a girl’s voice.  He thought that maybe he’d heard one similar once before, but if he had, he wasn’t sure where he’d heard it.  He was tempted to open his eyes to check, but in the end he didn’t.  He didn’t want to reveal that he was awake.

 

“It is,” Draco responded, his voice neutral.  His hand stilled in Harry’s hair, and he asked quietly, “Are you going to be difficult about this?”

 

“I don’t see how you’d expect me to be any other way,” the unknown woman said sharply.  “Draco, you and I, we could have been something amazing!  What can that halfblooded whore offer you that I cannot?”

 

Harry felt Draco shrug.  “Nothing, technically,” he said.  “Aside from the fact that my children will now be legitimate Malfoys, unlike whatever bastards you might have borne me.”

 

The woman let out a gasp, shocked either at the cruelty of the word or at Draco’s crudeness for speaking of such things.  Harry honestly couldn’t say which was the cause of the gasp.  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Draco,” she snarled.

 

“Ashamed of myself, Astoria?”  Draco laughed.  Harry’s cheek bounced lightly on his chest as he did so, and he let out a small noise of discontentment against his will.  Immediately, Draco stilled.  “I’m not the one in here throwing a temper tantrum because things aren’t going my way.”

 

“You think this is me throwing a temper tantrum?” Astoria asked, and there was something dark in her voice, something that Harry didn’t like. Something frightening, almost.

 

Harry wanted to go for his wand, but he realized that he had no idea where it was, or even if he’d be allowed to cast right now given that he was in such a fragile state.  Instead, he kept himself as limp as he could and hoped that Draco’s duelling technique had improved if it came down to a fight.

 

“I think that you’d better think carefully about whatever it is that you’re planning,” Draco said coldly.  “And you should remember that, for all intents and purposes, Harry is the mother of the heir of the Malfoy name.  My parents would not take lightly to your interfering in his pregnancy.”

 

“Do they even know, Draco?” she asked, and tittered lightly.  “Perhaps they won’t be as pleased as you think they will.”

 

“That’s a dangerous game to play, Astoria, pitting my parents against me.”  Draco’s voice had gone cold, practically frigid, and Harry couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it. Impossibly, Draco’s voice was even harsher the next time he spoke.  “I think you’ll find that, if you do approach them with your newfound knowledge, they’ll take the information better than you expect.  Now I suggest you get out before you wake my husband.  He’s in a delicate state.”

 

“You’re going to regret this, Draco,” Astoria snapped.  Harry heard a noise, like she was standing, and then a series of rhythmic thuds, like she was stomping towards the door.

 

“The only thing I regret is allowing myself to become involved with an immature child,” Draco shot back, and then Harry heard the door slam closed.  He felt Draco relax slowly, felt his hand begin stroking through his hair again, and then he heard Draco ask, “When did you wake up?”

 

Harry froze, then blinked open his eyes and looked up sheepishly.  “When she first came into the room,” he confessed.  “I don’t sleep that heavily.  All the time at war, all the time without really being safe, it’s taken its toll on me, I suppose.”

 

Draco didn’t look angry.  If anything, he looked mildly amused.  “I suppose that’s good to know.  At least no one will ever take you by surprise, particularly not now that you’re in such a delicate state.”

 

The words reminded Harry of the dark tone Astoria had used at the end of the conversation, the way that her words had sounded more like a threat than anything else.  “And do you think that’s a risk?” Harry asked carefully.

 

“Yes.”  Draco didn’t try to soften the blow of the words, although he dd press another soft, tender kiss to Harry’s forehead.  “She’ll be angry, and if she’s right and my parents are upset…”

 

“You said that they wouldn’t be,” Harry said, a spike of fear, new fear, shooting through him.  Draco had said…

 

“A bluff, unfortunately,” Draco said with a small sigh.  “My mother, yes, will probably be ecstatic to have legitimate grandchildren.  My father, though…”  He shook his head.  “It’s really anyone’s guess as to how he’s going to take the news.  I’d like to think he’ll take it well, but honestly, there’s a very good chance that he won’t.  My father always was a blood purist.”

 

Harry shivered and found himself pressing even closer to Draco, reassured by his physical presence in spite of himself.  “So what does that mean?  Does that mean that you’re going to wait to talk to them until you have to, or…”

 

“I should have talked to them already, honestly,” Draco answered.  He stroked a hand down Harry’s naked back, the touch soothing if a bit discomforting.  “I didn’t want to risk bringing them into the room when you were in such a vulnerable state, though.  I didn’t think that you would take it well.”

 

Harry flinched.  No, no he wouldn’t take having Lucius Malfoy in his room while he was sleeping well at all.  “Why do you care?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

 

Draco stilled once more.  “What do you mean?”  The Malfoy heir sounded cautious, and when Harry glanced at him, he wouldn’t meet his gaze.

 

“I mean, what does my mental state matter?  I need to be in good condition, physically, because of the baby.  But you…”  Harry swallowed, and remembered the seething hatred that had boiled within Draco in the moments of their consummation.  The resentment he still felt towards Harry, the frustration.  “You hate me.”  His voice was very small as he said the last.  The thought of that hatred… it still hurt him, honestly.

 

“I don’t…”  Draco exhaled forcefully.  His hand started to move once more, stroking over Harry’s skin with great care, like he was something fragile.  “I don’t hate you,” he said quietly.  “I never did.  I hated the situation.  I hated the fact that I was going to die without a legitimate heir because neither side could just win the fucking war.  That’s what I hated. And yes, there was some resentment towards you.  You were the Golden Boy.  You were supposed to stop Voldemort before it ever reached this level, and you… didn’t.”

 

Harry shifted so that he could better look at Draco, his stomach now pressed to Draco’s stomach.  The position was awkward in its intimacy, but Harry… didn’t mind.  Not much anyway.  “I tried, you know,” he said.  “I tried as hard as I ever tried anything, and it didn’t matter.  No matter what Dumbledore and I tried, I just couldn’t beat him.”  Harry shrugged.  “Maybe Neville should have been the Boy Who Lived all along.  He might have had some success, unlike me.”

 

Draco frowned down at him.  “I can’t imagine Neville managing anything that you couldn’t,” he said honestly.  His lips then quirked into a slight smile.  “On the other hand, maybe we would have won faster.”

 

Harry couldn’t stop himself from hitting Draco in the arm, not that he tried very hard to stop himself.  “Neville is an amazing person, and he would have been a great Boy Who Lived!” he protested, but he laughed as he did so.

 

Draco’s dubious expression was even more entertaining than his skepticism.  “If you say so,” the blonde said, and sniffed haughtily.  “I still say he would just have been that much easier to beat in a fight.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but before he could do so the door slammed against the wall behind him with a crash.  Harry was out of the bed, wand in hand and pointed at the door, before the sound had even faded.  Lucius Malfoy stood there, his shoulders shaking as he stared at his son, seemingly heedless of the wand pointed in his general direction, or Harry’s lack of shirt.

 

“Is it true?” Lucius asked, his lips curled into a snarl.

 

“I don’t know what ‘it’ is,” Draco said coolly.  “Harry, please sit down.  You’re still unwell.”

 

Now that Draco drew his attention to it, Harry could feel the dizziness setting in again.  At least it had waited until he was sure of the level of threat before making Harry’s head spin. He didn’t want to sit down, not when Lucius Malfoy was still standing in the doorway, face contorted into an expression of utter fury, but he wasn’t sure that his level of dizziness would allow him to continue standing.

 

Harry sat on the bed, but didn’t lower his wand.  Draco immediately pulled him back so that they were back to chest once more, and Harry glared at Lucius from this new position, his wand still unwavering.  Draco didn’t object to the position of his wand, so Harry kept it up.  He felt better with it like that, anyway.

 

“The boy is a carrier,” Lucius said, his eyes narrowed as he raked them over Harry’s form.

 

Harry wanted to draw the blanket up over him, but didn’t want to lower his wand.  He didn’t want Lucius looking at him like that.  He didn’t like it.  He shivered and fought the urge to close his eyes, to reach for the blanket and thus lower his wand.

 

Then he felt it settle over him anyway, as Draco covered him, even though it was difficult for him to do so given their positions.  “He is,” Draco said.  “And yes.  Since Astoria’s obviously explained to you our new situation, Harry is both a carrier and pregnant.  And I will thank you to stop looking at the _mother_ of the Malfoy heir like he’s some kind of monster.”

 

Lucius blinked, and abruptly the maddened expression faded away, to be replaced by a smooth veneer of civility.  “My apologies,” he said stiffly.  Then he turned on his heel, as though he’d done nothing wrong, and left the room.

 

Harry sagged back against Draco, his wand lowering.  “What the hell?” he muttered, staring after Lucius.  He hadn’t even bothered to close the door to the bedroom.

 

“He’ll come around,” Draco said, and there was something in his voice, in his emotions, a sort of relief.  He’d been worried about what his father would think, Harry realized, and he hadn’t told Harry.  Not that Harry could blame him.  It wasn’t like they were that close yet, anyway.  If they were going to be…

 

There was still a lingering fear inside of him that Draco would take his child as soon as he or she was born, that he wouldn’t be allowed to be involved with his child’s life, and there really wasn’t anything that he could do about that fear.  Nothing but time would prove him wrong, and he hoped that time would prove him wrong.

 

His life here was already a nightmare.  He thought that if it got any worse he might actually go through with his half-serious thought of jumping off the balcony, consequences to the treaty be damned.

 

“What are you thinking about?”  There was something sharp in Draco’s voice, and Harry wasn’t sure but he thought that he could maybe feel some fear coming from Draco.  It was a sharp feeling, acrid, and Harry didn’t like it very much at all.

 

“How miserable my life has been,” Harry said honestly.  He couldn’t see any point behind lying.  “How devastated I would be if you did take my child from me.  How I might… how I might actually jump from the balcony in my room if you did that.”  He didn’t see any reason to lie.  If Draco was leaving the bond between them open, then he could probably feel everything that Harry felt, including the wash of despair that had nearly overcome him when he’d thought about what his life could become.  Had become, really.

 

Draco exhaled sharply.  “I can’t make you believe me,” he said after a long silence.  “But I promise that I won’t let that happen.  You will raise your child, Harry.”

 

Harry swallowed.  There was an iron core to his words that Harry couldn’t ignore, a force behind them, an emotion that promised that if he wasn’t telling the truth, Draco still genuinely believed what he was saying.  “Okay,” he said, his voice small.  He closed his eyes and leaned back and let himself start to relax.

 

At least until he heard a throat being cleared at the doorway.  “Has Lucius been by?”  The voice was a woman’s, once more, and this time Harry recognized the speaker.  Narcissa. Draco’s mother.

 

He opened his eyes and didn’t let himself raise his wand this time, even though he didn’t quite manage to stop it from twitching upwards.  He made to sit up, as he’d done when Lucius had been in the room, but was immediately stopped by a hand raised from Narcissa.

 

“Don’t attempt to get up, dear one,” she said, and fluttered into the room.  “You’re about four months along, since you conceived on the night of the marriage.  If that’s the case, I’d imagine that you’re nearly depleted since my darling son hasn’t been giving you the care you’ll require.”  At the words darling son, Narcissa shot her son a look that said that he was anything but darling at the moment.

 

“I can sit up,” Harry protested, but didn’t make a move to do so.  Now that he’d been given permission to stay where he was, he couldn’t be bothered to sit up.  He really was quite tired, still, and wondered how long he would feel like this.  Surely the entire pregnancy wouldn’t be like this?

 

“Of course you can.”  Narcissa settled on the bed without waiting for permission and patted Harry on the hand, ignoring the fact that it was still clutching his wand with white fingers.  “But this pregnancy has doubtlessly been a terrible strain on your body and your magic, since Draco hasn’t been donating his own.  So you should just relax and let yourself be taken care of until you’re back to one hundred percent.”

 

“Do you know how long that will be?” Harry asked, unable to keep a hint of whine out of his voice.  He hated this.  He’d felt awful for so long, and now that he didn’t feel bad, he couldn’t even do anything.  He was still stuck in bed, which was almost worse than feeling sick.

 

Narcissa’s laugh was warm and almost affectionate.  Harry was startled to feel that feeling echoed in Draco, although he couldn’t tell if it was directed to him or to Narcissa.  “It could take the rest of the pregnancy,” she said gently, and Harry winced at the words he hadn’t wanted to hear.  “All pregnancies have that possibility, even ones that have gone perfectly well since their inception.  Yours… hasn’t.”

 

Harry sighed.  “I guess not eating didn’t help, did it?” he asked glumly.

 

Narcissa’s eyes sharpened.  “You guess correctly,” she said.  “And you’re going to make sure that you eat every meal from here on out, do you understand me?  You cannot subject your body to any unnecessary strain, and starvation would certainly fall into that category.”

 

Harry wanted to tell her that sometimes he just wasn’t hungry, to tell her that it was a product of an upbringing where food was oftentimes scarce, and that was if he was lucky.  He didn’t say anything at all, and instead let his eyes fall closed.

 

“Are you going to be taking over Harry’s care?” Draco asked, and Harry’s eyes opened once more.  He twisted to look at Draco, and his confusion must have shown on his face because Draco’s smile softened.  “My mother is a Healer,” he said.  “She used to be quite an accomplished one, although these days she worries mostly about minor injuries and Mind Healing.”

 

“It would be a pleasure,” Narcissa said.  When Harry turned to look at her, her face had softened and she had a genuinely pleased expression on her face.  “If Harry is okay with that, of course.  I wouldn’t want to subvert his rights as mother of the child.”

 

Harry tried out a smile, and when his face didn’t break, he let it widen.  “I’d be okay with that,” he said honestly.  “As long as you’re patient with me about the whole eating thing.”

 

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed, but her smile remained.  “We may have to discuss that whole eating thing,” she said.  “But if you aren’t hungry, and you consent to taking a nutrient potion when you skip a meal, I suppose for now that will suffice.”

 

Harry nodded.  “I can agree to that,” he said with some relief, and let his eyes fall closed once more.  He really was tired, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why… other than the fact that he was both sick and pregnant, apparently, and he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around either fact.

 

“Draco, darling, you won’t be leaving that dear boy’s side for the next five months, do you understand me?”  Narcissa’s voice was almost sharp enough for Harry to open his eyes again, to glare at her, but he didn’t quite manage it.  His eyelids were just so heavy right then…

 

“I won’t, mother,” Draco said, and Harry felt his genuine sincerity.  “Honestly, I was getting ready to approach him as you suggested when Tally came to me and told me he was ill.  I want to make this work.”

 

“I’m pleased to hear that.”  There was something in Narcissa’s voice, something regal and important.  “Whether or not he could bear your children, Harry was your spouse, and you should be ashamed of the way you treated him.  You should have been trying to make this marriage work long before he grew ill.  Perhaps then you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

 

“I know, mother,” Draco whispered, and Harry was surprised to feel genuine shame coming from Draco.  “I know, and I’m sorry.  And I’ll make sure that Harry understands how very sorry I am too, once he’s in a better state.”

 

“See that you do.”  There was the click of the door closing, and the room went silent.

 

Part of Harry wanted to tell Draco that it was okay, that he understood, but there was a much larger part of Harry that was… angry?  Hurt, maybe? by the way he’d been treated since coming to this new place to live.  So he stayed silent, and let himself drift off to sleep.  Draco deserved to do a little bit of grovelling, he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry improved gradually, though it was still difficult for him to even really process the idea that he was pregnant. That he was going to have a baby. That there was a life, growing inside of him. If he thought about it too much, he found that he started to panic, started to worry about everything that could go wrong.

He tried not to think about it too much.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to forget. He was still stuck in bed, mostly, and Draco spent about ninety-eight percent of his time in bed with him, even though Harry was feeling infinitely better than he had been, even if he was only managing to keep down nutrient potions, toast, and occasionally broths. Narcissa, who’d been by several times to check on his recovery, kept insisting that it was best not to rush it because the last thing he wanted was to get sick again.

It wasn’t that Harry disagreed with her, he just wanted some time to himself to try and process everything. He didn’t think that was too much to ask, was it?

But apparently it was. At least, until Narcissa came by the fourth time and checked Harry’s magic levels, and then checked something else with a soft mutter. For the first time ever, she smiled at both results. “Excellent,” she said cheerfully. “Draco, my darling son, go away while I speak with Harry privately.”

Draco’s small sigh of… relief? Harry thought it was relief, anyway, and it stirred the hair on the back of his head. “Thank Merlin,” Draco muttered, and slipped out from behind Harry. He stood and stretched, and then he winced. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” Harry interrupted. It wasn’t fine. That hurt, the relief. Just when he’d started to think…

“It’s not,” Draco started. He opened his mouth to continue, but Harry just shook his head. “We’ll talk when I come back,” Draco said softly. “Mother, please let me know when you’re finished.”

The look that Narcissa sent her son was dark and promised violence, at least, that’s the impression that Harry got. And he was normally pretty good at recognizing when violence was being directed at someone. “Oh, I’ll let you know,” she said. “Now go. Harry and I need to have a conversation.” Narcissa smiled at her son, and the smile was sharp and vicious.

Harry decided rather abruptly that he’d been frightened of the wrong Malfoy adult. Narcissa, it seemed, was far more terrifying than her husband. He swallowed. He wanted to ask Draco not to leave him alone with her, but he didn’t. Draco wanted to go, anyway. Harry didn’t want to make him stay if he didn’t want to be there.

The door closed softly behind Draco, and Narcissa settled on the edge of Harry’s bed. “Tally tells me that you weren’t eating long before you were sick,” she began quietly.

Harry flinched. “I was so,” he protested. “I ate everything he gave me, or I tried to anyway!”

“He said you had problems on the first night with the food. That you asked for milk, or bread, and that he was rotten to you about it.” Narcissa studied him, her smile soft at the edges, not sharp like it had been with Draco. “He said that you gave up after getting one slice of bread, and then you didn’t finish.”

Harry swallowed. “I didn’t think he’d give me more,” he said. He shifted back in the bed to lean against the pillows and hoped that the motion didn’t look as defensive as it actually was.

“And you already knew that you wouldn’t be able to eat much even once you were feeling better,” Narcissa said, moving on from her first topic of choice. But not moving far enough for Harry’s taste. This subject was a minefield for him. “You haven’t tried to push yourself once. Tell me, Harry, how did Gryffindor’s Golden Boy come to have experience recovering from starvation?”

Harry flinched again. He hated Slytherins, and their ability to score a direct hit even when he knew one was coming. “I don’t want to talk about that,” he said shortly. It wasn’t a conversation he was prepared to have with anyone, much less someone he didn’t trust. And as much as he didn’t hate her, he still didn’t trust Narcissa Malfoy.

“But you acknowledge that you have experience,” she prodded. “You didn’t say that you don’t know what I’m talking about, you just said that you don’t want to talk about it. So that tells me that someone hurt you at some point by withholding food.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know that,” he said. “It could be that food was withheld as part of my training from Dumbledore and the Ministry! Food is a vulnerable spot that all people share, after all. It’s something that’s hard to adjust to a lack of.” It was true that the Ministry had trained him that way as well. Maybe she would latch on to that and let the topic drop.

“And I bet you did very well at that kind of training because you have prior experience,” Narcissa said. “It’s okay,” she added, holding up a hand to stop Harry when he opened his mouth. “You don’t have to tell me, not right now. But eventually, Harry, you’re going to have to talk to someone.”

Harry closed his mouth, pursing his lips, and looked away.

Narcissa sighed and stood. She brushed a hand over his forehead, the touch gentle, then she left the room. Moments later, Draco returned and, seeing the mood that Harry was in, didn’t try to speak. Instead, he settled on the bed next to him and said not a word, waiting until Harry leaned against him to pull Harry closer.

The rest of the day passed in stony silence.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry woke the next morning feeling sick. His stomach turned as he lay in bed, and the room spun around him before he could even open his eyes. He let out a small noise and reached for Draco and found that he wasn’t there. That Harry was alone, for the first time since he’d fainted in his closet.

Harry sat up, and immediately regretted the motion. His head spun even worse and he couldn’t stop himself from gagging, and then he was unable to stop until bile spewed from his throat, disgusting and terrible. He shuddered through it, through the hacking and the coughing and the tears that streamed from his eyes and down his face to mix with the snot and bile on the bed.

When it was over, he was a disgusting mess, with bile in his lap and down his chin, and he couldn’t stop crying. He hadn’t… he hadn’t thrown up like that since he was a child. What had happened? Where was Draco?

Why was he alone? Why couldn’t he feel…

Because Draco had closed down the bond. The answer came to him almost as quickly as he’d posed it. Draco had shut down the bond, and now Harry was sick again. Why would he do that?

Harry tried to stand up, but found that he couldn’t manage it. That his body just… didn’t allow it, no matter how hard he tried. When he tried to get up, he just… couldn’t. He could sit up, but putting any weight on his feet was just not happening. He tried for a few minutes, trying to get to the bathroom, but he couldn’t move. Maybe it was the pregnancy?

Harry let out a small, shuddering sob. This was… this was worse than anything, this was humiliating and terrible and awful, and he hated every second of it. He wanted everything to be normal again. He wanted to be home, to be fighting the war again, to not have to worry about a baby growing inside of him that he wasn’t even sure he wanted but now felt attached to. He didn’t want to be bonded to Malfoy, didn’t want… didn’t want any of this. And now he was sick and covered in evidence of it and surely, surely Malfoy was going to pick on him when he finally came back. Surely this was going to be what reminded him that Harry wasn’t fit to care for their child.

And then what would Harry do, other than throw himself off the edge of the balcony that was in his room?

Harry fell back on the bed, his mouth still tasting of his own bile and his throat burning from having thrown up. He hated this. He hated everything. And right then, he hated Malfoy.

He felt the bond bloom open again, felt a moment of absolute rage, and then felt that rage eclipsed by a feeling of absolute horror tempered by concern. Harry didn’t move, didn’t bother, not even when the door burst open and Malfoy rushed through.

“Fuck off,” Harry snarled, his voice hoarse from throwing up, from crying, from everything.

“Harry, I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispered. “I had… I had something to take care of, and I didn’t think that you would want to feel what I was feeling as I handled it.”

Harry didn’t say anything, just turned his head away from Malfoy. Why had he let himself start hoping that things were going to be different? It was pretty clear, now, that they never would be. That Harry would be lucky if he got to live a semi-normal life stuck in his lonely room. He was just a trophy, and he needed to remember that.

“Harry, please,” Malfoy breathed. “You’re upset, and I understand that, but you’re frightening me right now. Won’t you talk to me?”

Harry rolled his head to look at Malfoy. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, his voice dull. He couldn’t force any emotion into it. He was just… done.

“I want you to tell me to go to hell. Tell me to fuck off, just don’t… don’t freeze me out like that,” Malfoy begged. He came to sit beside Harry, helped him to sit up even though Harry wanted to do nothing of the kind, even though Harry was covered with his own sick. “I’m so sorry. You and I, we just keep misunderstanding each other.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You make it so easy for me to misunderstand you,” he pointed out. “You say things that hurt, and you leave me when you know I’m sick, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to think anymore!”

“I know that I do,” Malfoy said. He reached for Harry’s cheek and touched it gently, almost reverently. “I know that I’m making things difficult on you, and I don’t know how to stop doing that. I don’t know how to stop hurting you, even though I keep trying.”

“Just stop,” Harry said. “I’m just… I’m tired.” He didn’t know how else to say it. He was tired of all of this. He just… he just wanted things to be the way they were, even though he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“I can’t,” Malfoy answered, helplessly. “Harry, you’re the mother of my child, and I can’t let that go. I can’t let you go. I have to keep trying.”

Harry’s eyes closed against his will. He wanted to believe that Draco… that Malfoy held him in such reverence, but it was hard to do so when he kept saying, feeling awful things. When he left Harry knowing how sick Harry was…

“Do you want a bath?” Draco asked, when Harry didn’t respond.

Harry’s first instinct was to say no, just to spite Draco, but he couldn’t manage that, either. He just wasn’t managing much of anything right now, was he? “Yes,” he said tiredly, his voice small. “I need a bath.”

It had been forever since he’d taken one, and now that it had been offered, he could feel his skin crawling at the idea that he hadn’t been cleaned since he’d passed out, and who even knew how long that had been? He’d been spelled clean, of course, but that was nothing like actually bathing or showering. And showering, with as weak as he still was, was entirely out of the question.

Draco summoned an elf, not Tally but a different one, and directed them to run a warm bath. “Let me help you up,” Draco said, and then when Harry didn’t protest, he did just that. He didn’t flinch when Harry got close to him, in spite of the bile that stained his chest and his boxers, and in fact pulled him close to help keep him on his feet.

Draco didn’t complain as he led Harry to the bathroom, as he helped Harry undress, which was almost more humiliating than helping him to the bathroom, sink into the steaming hot bath, and Harry started to relax, at least until Draco let go. Then his head started to spin again, and he let out a small, protesting sound that he couldn’t quite manage to choke back.

“I’ll be right there,” Draco said quickly, and Harry realized that he was stripping out of his own clothes.

That explained why he didn’t protest, Harry thought dully, and closed his eyes when Draco came back into view, his cheeks going bright pink. He hadn’t seen Draco naked before, in spite of the fact that they’d been married for several months. In spite of the fact that they’d had sex. Ritual sex was… different. They’d both been at least partially closed, and even if they hadn’t been, Harry hadn’t exactly been paying attention to anything right then.

Draco sank into the water quickly, then shifted so that he was sitting in the tub, which really was more of a pool, honestly, next to Harry, his arm pressed against Harry’s own. “Better?” he asked, his voice curiously mellow.

Harry looked over at him, and found that Draco was leaning back against the wall of the tub, his head resting on the rim, his eyes closed. “Better,” Harry whispered. His throat still hurt, and he still tasted of vomit, but the hot water was doing wonders for his tired body that ached in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain, and now that Draco was pressed against his arm, the dizziness was fading already.

Draco just nodded, and stayed there while Harry worked up the energy to clean himself off. It took everything he had in him, and wondered just how long he’d be feeling this awful. He wanted to ask Draco, but doubted that he knew. Narcissa would be the one to ask, but she… probably wouldn’t give him an answer. She seemed to enjoy giving him half answers that kept him guessing.

Harry sighed when he finished washing himself off, then asked, “Should we change the water since I’m clean now?” The thought of stewing in his own sickness…

“The water cleans itself,” Draco said, his voice slurred ever so slightly. Harry glanced at him, and found that the blonde appeared to be drifting off to sleep. “It’s magic. It does things like that.”

Harry laughed quietly, not even trying to stop himself. He settled back in the tub, relaxing into the heat of it. He let his own eyes fall closed, though he didn’t get anywhere close to falling asleep as Draco had. He was tired of sleeping, having done so much of it over the past few days. Now he felt curiously awake, and better than he’d felt in what felt like forever.

He let himself soak, even when Draco’s weight grew heavier against his side, even when the blonde slumped over to one side and his head fell onto Harry’s shoulder. The blonde was very clearly asleep. Finally, Harry shifted Draco away and tried to stand. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but it wasn’t terrible.

Draco jolted awake at his actions, his cheeks flushed either from heat or embarrassment. “Thanks for letting me sleep,” he muttered. He wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

Harry just shrugged. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me in worse positions, lately,” he pointed out.

The two dried off, and were supplied with fresh boxers courtesy of the house elves. Then Harry was returned to a bed with fresh seats, while Draco took a moment longer, grabbing a handful of books. He brought them over to the bed, then handed the stack to Harry.

“You might enjoy these,” he said, and still sounded exhausted. “I’m going to go to sleep, and you don’t seem at all tired.”

They were novels, and Draco was right. At least one of them looked very interesting. Harry settled into the bed, and shivered a little when Draco leaned against him instead of the other way around. It was nice, sort of warm and comfortable. He didn’t know how else to describe it, but he liked it.

Draco eventually sagged against him completely, and Harry knew that he’d gone to sleep curled up against Harry’s chest, the way that Harry had rested against his own for so many days. Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe that he kind of liked it.

And then he was lost in the tale of a cursebreaker who worked for Gringotts and the mystery of the tomb in Ireland that had the ghost of a woman who insisted that she wasn’t dead, and just needed to be rescued. It was absolutely fascinating…

ooOOooOOoo

  
He felt Draco stirring against him when he was only a handful of pages from the end of the mystery. It was the most exciting part, and the cursebreaker had managed to solve the last riddle and was about to find out whether or not the woman was actually dead or if she was just delusional.

“Do you think that we might-”

“Shh!” Harry reached out blindly with one hand and clapped it over Draco’s mouth, and felt the blonde mouthing something indignantly against his hand. That was fine. He didn’t care. He was too close to the end of the book to care about what Draco was up to. He had to know!

And then he reached the end. The woman was rescued, alive and well, and she and the cursebreaker lived happily ever after. The epilogue said that they had seven children together, and Harry smiled because he was reminded a bit of the Weasleys, for all that this story was likely nothing like how Molly and Arthur had met.

Almost as an afterthought, he took his hand away from Draco’s mouth. “I was really close to the end,” he said sheepishly. “I wanted to finish it.”

Draco didn’t look angry, though. If anything, he looked amused. “I remember reading that one,” he said, a fond smile making his lips curl and his eyes sparkle. “It was one of my favorites, too. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Harry ducked his head, his cheeks flushed. “Thanks for recommending it to me,” he said, a bit shyly. Then he cleared his throat. “You were saying something before I shushed you?”

“I was just thinking that maybe it was time that you and I spoke,” Draco said, his voice suddenly going serious. “About important things that we’ve avoided talking about.”

Harry closed his eyes. Did he want to talk about serious things? He didn’t think he did. Still… still, it would be good to know, once and for all, where Draco stood with this whole… marriage. With Harry’s pregnancy. With… Harry, he supposed. It would be good to know. And he supposed that Draco deserved to know where Harry stood, because if he didn’t say then he was just being as much of an asshole as Draco had been to him.

“I’m still angry with you,” Harry said finally, and opened his eyes. “You… you hurt me.” He spoke softly, uncertainly, but he meant the words that he was saying. He was willing to give this whole thing a chance, but Draco really had hurt him, whether he’d meant to or not.

“When I left you this morning?” Draco asked, and Harry felt his genuine surprise, followed by a slight feeling of irritation. “Harry, I told you, I was taking care of something important! I didn’t think it would take as long as it did, and I didn’t think that you’d wake up before I got back. I definitely didn’t think you’d like to feel what I was feeling when I was dealing with it.”

Harry shook his head and raised one hand to halt the flow of words. “That’s not what I meant, but that is something else we need to talk about. If we’re… if we’re giving this whole marriage thing a try, then you should tell me things like that. If we’re going to be partners, in life, in everything, then you can’t just go and do something ‘important’ that affects me, physically and emotionally, without telling me what you’re doing!”

Draco opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. He looked down at the bed. “Fair,” he muttered.

“So what were you doing this morning?” Harry prompted, since Draco still didn’t seem inclined to provide Harry with that information.

Draco’s breath hissed out through his teeth, and Harry could feel his frustration. Finally, he said, “I was meeting with Astoria’s parents, if you must know,” through gritted teeth.

Harry blinked. “Why?” he asked, a bit blankly. What did they have to do with anything? Their daughter was a lunatic, and Harry wanted her to stay far away from him, and from the child growing inside of him.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Because I need them to take their daughter back,” he said bluntly. “I forget sometimes how little you know about pureblood society. Astoria was going to be my Mistress. She would have had a position here much like your own, and would have borne my children. There are contracts between families when such things are discussed, and I needed her parents to dissolve the one between us.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “And that’s done?” he asked, a bit breathlessly. If she were still here… well, honestly, he was pretty confident he could take her if it came to it, but… he was pregnant, and he was dizzy all the time if he wasn’t in contact with Draco, and it would be pathetically easy for her to incapacitate him. He’d rather not duel her if he didn’t have to.

“That’s done,” Draco confirmed. He reached for Harry, but paused before his hand could actually land on Harry’s cheek.

Harry felt his hesitance, but also felt the warmth radiating from his hand. Hesitantly, he tilted his head to one side so that his cheek rested in Draco’s hand. The touch was gentle, and Harry found that he enjoyed it. He swallowed around the small lump that formed in his throat.

“But that wasn’t what you meant when you said that I hurt you,” Draco whispered after a moment of silence. “And I think that, if you’re up to it, I’d like you to tell me what you did mean.”

Harry closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it,” he said honestly. Even though he knew he should. If this was going to work between them, if they were really going to try out this whole marriage thing, then he had to tell Draco.

“Then we don’t have to, not right now,” Draco answered immediately.

Harry sighed. If Draco had pushed, if he’d tried to force the issue, he thought that he would have shut down. But that wasn’t what Draco did, and Harry… Harry wanted to try. “You… after the… the wedding,” he started, and swallowed, because the lump in his throat was getting larger.

“I behaved terribly,” Draco said. The words came freely, and Harry felt the genuine regret behind them. “I locked you away in a room like you were something to be hidden, to be ashamed of, and I left you with a house elf that I knew you wouldn’t get along with. And, while I never imagined that Tally would be that antagonistic, I knew that things wouldn’t be pleasant for you.” Draco paused, and the regret inside of him swelled like a wave about to crest. “I’m sorry,” he offered, the words soft and gentle and so painfully sincere.

Harry’s breath hitched. “You threw me away,” he whispered. He couldn’t make himself say anything more. If he did, then things would come out that he wasn’t sure he was ready to talk about with anyone. The Dursleys would come up, and the way that they’d thrown him into the cupboard under the stairs, and Harry couldn’t go into that right now.

“I did.” Draco didn’t remove his hand, and instead brought his other hand up to cup Harry’s other cheek. “And I will never be able to undo what I did to you. Time Turners don’t work like that.”

Harry’s first sob didn’t take him by surprise, and judging by Draco’s expression, it didn’t surprise him either. “I really want to trust you,” Harry managed to choke out.

“I know that it’s hard. Take your time, don’t force yourself,” Draco said. “I’ll be here, but the only thing that’s going to prove that to you is time. And I’m willing to wait as long as you need me to.”

Harry let out another small sob and flung himself forward into Draco’s arms. Draco’s arms closed around him immediately, and he felt one of Draco’s hands tangle in his hair while the other began running up and down his bare back. “I’m not this weepy normally,” Harry managed to gasp out between sobs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re pregnant,” Draco pointed out. He shifted them both so that he was leaning back against the pillows that Harry had been propped up with and pulled Harry closer. Now Harry was practically in his lap, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to move away. “I hear a rumor that being in such a condition can affect emotions.”

Harry let out another small sob, but it was oddly combined with a small laugh. “I feel like you’re accusing me of being irrational,” he said, and let his head rest on Draco’s shoulders.

“I’m not.” Draco’s hands continued to stroke soothingly over Harry’s back and hair, and Harry found his eyes drifting closed. He hadn’t been tired, but now… now he felt worn out. “I’m just saying that you have a bit of an excuse for displaying your emotions more readily than you might do in normal circumstances. That doesn’t make your emotions any less valid.”

Harry sighed. The feeling of absolute sincerity that accompanied the words made a tension within him ease. “Thanks,” he said.

He didn’t fall asleep after that, but instead lay there, curled up in Draco’s lap, his eyes closed. Eventually, he felt Draco reach for one of the other books and, before Harry could ask to be handed another one, Draco started to read out loud, his voice washing over Harry.

It was… nice. Harry thought that he could get used to sitting with Draco like that, and he found himself a bit frightened of the thought. There was so much that could go wrong…

But for right then, it was a good afternoon, and Harry resolved to try and focus on that instead of worrying about a future that might never come to pass.


	4. Chapter 4

It took another week for Harry to be allowed out of bed for anything more than a trip to the bathroom, and by that time, he was more than ready to be away from the perfectly nice bed in the perfectly nice room. He would have liked to spend some time away from Draco as well, not that he’d been anything but kind to Harry since their conversation after he’d dealt with Astoria’s parents.

It was just that Harry wasn’t used to being around people so much anymore, not after four months spent with only Tally for company. And before that, there was the war, and there wasn’t exactly a lot of time to socialize when trying to defeat an insane Dark Lord.

“It still isn’t safe for the two of you to be parted,” Narcissa said quietly. She smiled at Harry, the expression soft with sympathy. “I understand that you’d like time alone, but the magic that your pregnancy requires cannot be supplied by you alone, even at the best of times. And because you spent four months supplying all of that magic, any long separation could cause…” Narcissa trailed off.

That was okay; Harry didn’t need her to finish the sentence. It could cause a miscarriage. And while he still wasn’t entirely certain that he was on board with the whole ‘baby’ thing, he didn’t want to risk the pregnancy.

Everything in him protested the idea vehemently.

“I understand,” he finally said. He glanced at Draco, checking to make sure that he wasn’t offended, but Draco looked like he was hardly paying attention. Instead of listening, he seemed to be staring out the window.

“I’m glad,” Narcissa said. “Now that you’re allowed to move around, you’ll be expected to join the family for dinners. I look forward to your company, both to get to know you better and to keep a closer eye on your eating habits.” After dropping that grenade, before giving Harry a chance to respond, Narcissa swept from the room, leaving Harry flabbergasted in her wake.

“I have to eat with your family?” he asked Draco, his voice coming out in an embarrassing squeak.

His distress finally got Draco’s attention. “It won’t be that bad,” Draco said immediately, soothingly. He crossed the room and touched Harry’s cheek gently. “I’ll be with you the entire time. And you’re the mother of my child, which will mean something to Father.”

Harry didn’t like the idea of it. In fact, if it was Narcissa’s intention that he start eating more, making him nervous when he was trying to eat was probably not the best idea. “Do I have to?” he asked, his voice small.

“You’ll be fine,” Draco said. He smiled, the expression making his face light up. “Honestly, I’ve been missing our family dinners. It was always the best part of my days, when Mother and Father and I ate together and caught up on our daily activities.”

And what could Harry say to that? What kind of objection could he raise? It sounded wonderful, in theory, and if Draco was looking forward to it… “Right,” Harry muttered. He looked away. He just hoped that meals weren’t terribly formal, or he’d be in trouble. It wasn’t like table manners and etiquette had been one of the things the Ministry was worried about teaching him when they were training him to defeat Voldemort.

“Don’t worry,” Draco said again, his voice still soft and soothing. His thumb moved over Harry’s cheek, and Harry tilted his head into the touch. “How about we get your mind off of it?” Draco suggested.

Harry looked up at him. “I’m all for being distracted,” he said honestly. There were only so many conversations he and Draco could have about inconsequential things, and Harry wasn’t entirely ready to trust Draco with anything more in depth than a discussion of Quidditch, the weather, or their shared Hogwarts memories. And even that last thing was a bit dicey at times.

“I know that you’ve been cooped up in the Manor since you got here, with the exception of the balcony in your room. Tally said you didn’t use it often.” Draco’s face shifted into a more confused expression.

Harry hesitated. Did he want to explain how hard the balcony had actually been for him? To be so close to being free, and to know that there was no chance that he’d ever really get away, that even if he could have found his way to the ground he would never have been able to escape…

No. That wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have.

When Harry didn’t volunteer any response, Draco cleared his throat. “Anyway. Mother mentioned that you would do well with some time in the sun, and I thought that maybe a picnic lunch might be nice? Out in the gardens?”

“That sounds nice,” Harry said honestly. He offered Draco a smile that was only slightly shaky, and Draco’s answering smile was like the sun.

He was… strikingly handsome when he smiled like that, and Harry had to drop his gaze before he said or did something embarrassing.

“Hey,” Draco said softly. The hand on Harry’s cheek began to exert a light pressure, tilting Harry’s head back up. “Look at me, Harry.”

Harry looked back up, his cheeks flushing. He didn’t meet Draco’s gaze. “Yeah?” Harry asked, his voice shaking.

“I’m your husband, Harry,” Draco said softly, gently. “You’re allowed to think I’m attractive, you know.” His voice was lightly teasing when he added, “I might be offended if you didn’t.”

“R-right,” Harry muttered. He still didn’t meet Draco’s eyes. “I just…” He swallowed. He wasn’t used to… to that part of things. Not yet. They hadn’t really explored the romantic side of things. And he didn’t mind that they hadn’t, but right then, in that moment, he was confused about everything, and Draco really was very pretty…

“May I kiss you?” Draco asked. His voice was still soft, still gentle, and so very warm. Harry could feel his genuine want, the anticipation that Draco was feeling.

Harry didn’t know how he felt about it, but… but Draco wanted… “Okay,” he whispered, still uncertain. It wasn’t like it was his first kiss, technically. He’d kissed Draco during the ceremony, after all.

Draco leaned in and pressed his lips to Harry’s, the kiss as soft and gentle as Draco’s voice had been. It was almost chaste, but Harry could feel the electric undercurrent of want from Draco that made him shiver and sway closer.

“Thank you,” Draco said, pulling back. He caressed Harry’s cheek once more, his thumb rubbing gently. “Do you want to go outside with me now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, dropping his eyes once again. His cheeks still felt like they were on fire, but the kiss had been very nice. He supposed it was a fair trade.

“Okay,” Draco breathed. He stroked Harry’s cheek one last time, then pulled his hand away slowly. Before Harry could feel the loss, before he could even think that he wished he’d said no so that Draco would continue touching him like that, Draco entwined his fingers with Harry’s, grasping his hand with sure fingers. “Is this okay?”

Harry sighed and nodded. “Very much so,” he said.

The walk to the gardens was quiet, but it wasn’t an awkward sort of quiet. It was comfortable, and warm, and Harry leaned into Draco for much of the walk. It felt natural to do so, possibly because of the bond, or possibly as a result of the enforced contact they’d shared while he’d been recovering from the worst of his… illness? Was that the right word for it?

Harry shoved the thought away. What did it matter why it felt natural to lean against Draco? The fact was that it did, and he was warm and not dizzy and on his feet and headed outside, and the world was starting to look up.

The sun was shining brightly when they emerged from the Manor that had been Harry’s prison for what felt like a small eternity. It was a truly beautiful day, warm, but not too warm. And the gardens had ample amounts of shade for Harry to hide in if it did start to get warm.

The gardens themselves were beautiful. There were so many flowers, a dizzying, beautiful, colorful display that took Harry’s breath away. One of his favorite chores to do for the Dursleys had always been working in the garden, and he’d never quite lost his love of flowers and plants. His time spent locked away, after the Dursleys had found out that he wasn’t allowed to use magic, had only intensified his love of the outdoors.

And there hadn’t been time to really stop and smell the flowers when he’d been training to fight Voldemort, so it had been a very long time since Harry had had time to just stand in the middle of a garden and breathe.

Draco seemed mystified by his delight at the flowers, but was more than willing to indulge Harry, who darted from one flowerbed to the next. He never went far from Draco, staying within touching range because he still got a little lightheaded when he was any distance from him.

There was a table in the center of the largest garden, with a tablecloth and two plates, along with several covered dishes. Harry stopped and blinked at it. “That’s not a picnic,” he said, before he could think about what he was saying.

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked. He glanced at the table. “Of course it’s a picnic. We’re eating outdoors, aren’t we?”

Harry laughed, the sound brighter and more carefree than any he’d made in a long time. “Technically, you’re right,” he agreed. “But, at least in the Muggle world, picnics imply mostly cold foods eaten either on the ground or at a very specific type of table.”

Draco wrinkled his nose, the expression looking more reflexive than not. “Muggles eat in the dirt?” he asked, sounding truly scandalized.

Harry laughed again. “Sometimes,” he said. He leaned against Draco briefly. “But most of the time there are blankets involved.”

“That’s hardly any better,” Draco muttered. He looked around, then added, still in that same mutter, “If you’d like to eat on the ground, though…”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “No, this is fine. It’s nice, even.” He hesitated, then pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s cheek. “It’s perfect, actually. Thank you, Draco.”

If the best part of the meal, other than being outside, was seeing Draco’s cheeks turn to a pale shade of pink that was really quite handsome on him, well, Harry would never say.

ooOOooOOoo

If only dinner that night could have gone as well as lunch in the garden, Harry thought that everything might have been fine. He might have adjusted to being a member of the Malfoy family, to being… pregnant, which still didn’t seem real in spite of the fact that he now knew he’d been having morning sickness and his stomach was starting to expand ever so slightly.

But dinner did not seem as though it was going to go well, because nobody was talking.

Harry found himself staring awkwardly down at his soup bowl. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever had before, and he thought maybe that he might have liked it, if only he’d been given a chance to eat without the weight of two sets of eyes on him.

“Is the food not to your liking?” Lucius asked, his voice coldly polite. “Tally mentioned that you have some trouble with more exotic foods.”

Harry flinched. “It’s good,” he whispered. It wasn’t an exotic soup, and he just knew that Lucius was trying to get a rise out of him.

“Then you should eat more of it,” Lucius said, his voice still frosty. “You’re carrying the Malfoy family heir, Mr. Potter, and you will keep yourself healthy for his benefit.”

“Or hers,” Harry said without thinking about it.

Lucius’ spoon clattered against his bowl. “It shocks me how little you know of our world, Mr. Potter,” he sneered. “If you bear a girl, then she will not be the Malfoy heir.”

Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to take another small spoonful of soup. “I didn’t know that,” he said, even though he probably should have. The wizarding world was shockingly backward, and it shouldn’t surprise him that women couldn’t be familial heirs.

Hermione would have been furious. Then again, Hermione wasn’t here. She might even be dead; nobody had bothered to keep him updated on the status of his friends.

“Father, I really don’t think that now is a good time to be having this conversation,” Draco said delicately. “As you said, Harry should eat to keep his health up, and badgering him won’t help with that.”

“Yes, dear, this is hardly polite conversation for dinner,” Narcissa chimed in. “Tell me, what do you think of our gardens, Harry?”

Harry brightened. “They’re beautiful,” he said honestly. “I haven’t seen anything quite like them.” He hadn’t had nearly enough time to explore them, if he was going to be honest, but he’d also grown more tired than he’d thought he would from just walking around the gardens. By the time Draco had brought him back to the room they were sharing, Harry had been more than ready to take a brief nap.

Narcissa’s smile was soft and affectionate, like the sort of smile one might give to a puppy. Harry couldn’t find it within himself to be offended when she said, “Well, you should be getting outside more, so feel free to visit the gardens whenever you’d like. They’re one of our family’s greatest prides.”

“Thank you,” Harry said honestly.

The courses were switched out while they spoke, and Harry found himself faced with a fish dish that he’d never seen before in his life. It was red, which Harry found to be a bit alarming, and when he hesitantly raised a bite of it to his lips, he cringed. He could taste the heat on it before he even put it in his mouth, and he lowered the bite before he could try it.

“Come now, Potter, don’t you think that you should eat everything on your plate?” Lucius asked. There was a mocking lilt to his voice. Clearly, he knew about Harry’s problems with spicy food.

Harry’s smile faded and he looked down at his hands. He was trying, he really was, but… “I think I’d like to go back to my room,” he whispered.

“Harry,” Draco started. He stopped, and there was a hushed conversation that Harry could hear, but couldn’t quite make out the words to. “Of course,” he finally said stiffly.

Harry closed his eyes, because he could feel the anger through their bond and it hurt. Draco was mad at him. The day had been going so well before dinner, and now… now… Harry didn’t want to cry, was sick of crying, but he felt his eyes welling with tears all the same. This wasn’t who he was, this weak and fragile person who sobbed at the drop of a hat, but right at the moment it seemed like all he was doing was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice choked. He stood, a bit unsteady on his feet. “You should stay, catch up with your parents.” He made himself look up after blinking back his tears, and said as calmly as he could to Lucius and Narcissa, “Have a good evening.”

Then he turned on his heel and practically fled the dining room, not paying attention to the direction he was going in.

He didn’t make it far before realizing that he was hopelessly lost.

Harry stopped walking in the middle of the hallway, his shoulders slumped, his stomach churning, his head spinning. He shouldn’t have told Draco to stay. He shouldn’t have left in the first place. He shouldn’t have shown weakness like that. He should have… should have…

“Harry.” Draco’s voice sounded behind him, warm and kind. But the anger… it was still there, burning hot and bright.

Harry flinched away from it, the tears spilling from his eyes once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I didn’t mean—”

“You think that I’m angry with you,” Draco said in a tone of dawning realization. “Harry, no, I swear that my anger isn’t directed at you at all.” There was a stirring in the air behind Harry, and then Draco was pulling him into his arms, pulling Harry’s back to rest against his chest, his arms circling lightly around Harry’s stomach. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I couldn’t get through a dinner with your parents,” Harry said, confused. “You were looking forward to it, and I couldn't go through with it.”

“You think I expected you to once my father got started?” Draco let out a small laugh, the sound not exactly happy, but not angry either. “Trust me when I say that I’m impressed that you didn’t hex him where he sat.”

“I didn’t even think about it,” Harry said honestly. His tears were slowing. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days. I’d rather sit and cry than do anything about it.”

Draco’s arms tightened briefly before loosening. “You’re depressed,” he said quietly. “You were ripped away from anyone you knew, and then I just… well, my earlier actions didn’t help. And now you’re pregnant, which is playing havoc with your emotions and hormones. I’m sure that the time will come when you’re ready to curse my father again, and I promise you, I’ll cheer you on when you do it.”

Harry let out a soggy little laugh. “Thanks,” he said, and brushed the rest of the tears from his eyes. “I appreciate that.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Draco pressed a quick kiss to his temple, then turned him around with gentle hands. “Let’s go back to our room, and then we’ll eat dinner together if you think you can stomach it?”

“Do I have to eat the spicy fish?” Harry asked plaintively. He let himself be steered in what he thought might be the direction of the room they’d been sharing. He didn’t think it was actually Draco’s room, though, because it was so impersonal. It was probably a guest room or something.

Harry didn’t want to think about what would happen when Narcissa decided he was well enough to go back to his own room, and Draco left him alone. Harry wasn’t sure that he could handle it, to be honest.

“If you stop worrying, I’ll feed you whatever you want,” Draco promised. “Don’t think I can’t feel that you’re stressing over something.”

Harry flushed. “Sorry,” he said quickly, and tried to stop thinking about it. “Can we have pizza?” It wasn’t something he’d had often, but a Muggleborn Auror had introduced him to the food after a particularly awful battle, and Harry had found that he liked the food.

“Pizza?” Draco seemed confused, but he shrugged. “I suppose. I’m sure the house elves can find some from somewhere. Or they can make it, I guess.”

When they made it back to their rooms, there was a hot pizza waiting for them. It wasn’t quite what Harry remembered, but it was good, and Harry ate two slices of it before settling in with Draco to read quietly together.

Perhaps the night hadn’t been a total disaster.

ooOOooOOoo

The following night before dinner, Draco gave Harry an option. “We don’t have to try again, not so soon. But I admit that I would like to give my father another chance.”

The last thing that Harry wanted to do was subject himself to another night of sharp, thinly veiled barbs from Lucius, but at the same time, he didn’t want to keep Draco from his family. And Harry was many, many things, but a coward was never one of them. So he steeled himself, took a deep breath, and said, “We can join them.”

Draco’s smile was incandescent. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s lips, making Harry’s heart skip a beat. When he pulled back, he said, “I’m so pleased to hear that.” He kissed Harry again, then pulled back a little further.

Harry wanted to follow him, and in fact leaned forward a bit, making Draco laugh softly. Harry flushed. “Don’t mock me,” he said, a bit petulantly.

“I’m not,” Draco said. He touched Harry’s cheek with gentle fingers. “I think you’re sweet.” He leaned down a third time and kissed Harry.

This time, the kiss lingered and Harry shivered as it went on. But eventually, Draco pulled back. “We should probably head to dinner if we’re going,” he said, his voice a little husky.

Harry could feel an unfamiliar sort of heat emanating from their bond and it made him blush even harder. “Right,” he muttered, his cheeks uncomfortably warm. “We should do that.” He stepped back and tugged on his robes, hoping to make himself presentable. It worked, sort of at least.

The walk to the dining room was long and tensely quiet. It wasn’t the comfortable silence that Harry was slowly becoming accustomed to, because Harry was too tense about the coming dinner. He didn’t know what he was going to do if it went badly, if Lucius…

Well. There wasn’t too much that Lucius could do other than mocking him and serving food that Harry couldn't eat. Harry supposed that, in comparison to the Dursleys, Lucius wasn’t that bad at all. It had just been so long since he’d had to deal with that sort of behavior, and he’d been so much younger then…

It didn’t matter. The point was that he could do this.

Harry steeled himself as they entered the dining room and took their seats. Immediately, after he’d settled in his chair, Narcissa cleared her throat. “Lucius has something to say to you,” she said, her voice sharp.

Harry glanced up at Lucius, his father-in-law. Lucius wasn’t looking at him, was, in fact, looking in every direction but his own. But he did say, through gritted teeth, “Potter, I’m very sorry for the way I behaved last night.”

“That’s not his name,” Draco piped up from beside him. He took Harry’s hand, making him jump. “And I’m sorry, because I should have spoken up last night. Harry’s my husband, Father, and is legally a Malfoy now.”

Lucius’ teeth grinding was audible in the sudden silence of the room. “Very well,” he said stiffly after the silence had stretched into something uncomfortable. “I apologize, Mr… Harry. I apologize for my behavior and my words last night.”

Harry didn’t really forgive him, but in the interest of keeping the peace… “I accept your apology,” he said quietly. He looked down at the table.

Draco squeezed his hand, and the first course appeared before them. It was a soup that Harry had never had, but found to be quite delicious, and he savored every bite of it.

The rest of the dinner went… not well, Harry could never say that, but it didn’t go terribly. Conversation was light and stilted, but it never quite crossed into the awful territory it had occupied the night before. By the end of dinner, Harry was more tense than he’d been before because he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it never did, and as he and Draco left the dining room to go back to the room they shared, Harry thought that maybe he could learn to tolerate nightly meals with the Malfoy parents.


	5. Chapter 5

A week later, things were going… better. At least, better between himself and Lucius. Things with Draco had already been looking up, and his relationship with Narcissa had never been so bad either.

Harry did use the word ‘better’ a bit loosely, though. Better meant that Lucius wasn’t being deliberately antagonistic, and hadn’t attempted to feed him anything that he knew Harry wouldn’t be able to tolerate. He’d made no more subtle digs about Harry’s behavior, and every time it seemed that he was about to, Harry was almost certain that he saw Narcissa’s body jerk, like she’d just kicked him under the table.

Harry couldn’t be sure that was what was happening, but it was an entertaining image that helped him to keep a smile on his face.

His ability to be apart from Draco was also improving in leaps and bounds. He now was almost certain that he’d be able to spend the night in an entirely different room if need be, and he had to admit that the thought was terrifying.

If Draco didn’t need to be so close to him all the time, then…

Harry forced the thought back. It wouldn’t do any good to linger on the things that could come to pass, and as much as he hated the idea of it, he thought he probably just had to ask Draco what was going to happen once Narcissa gave him permission to sleep on his own again.

He didn’t want to ask when they were in public together, or really when they were around anyone at all, mostly because Harry couldn’t stand the thought of someone like Lucius laughing as he tried to have that conversation with Draco. Instead, he had to wait until they were truly alone, with no house elves or human servants, not that Harry had seen any of those.

Did wizards even employ humans in that capacity?

He shook that thought off as well, and instead drew in a deep breath once their house elf had left their suite for the night with a bow after lighting the fire for them. It made the room warm and cozy, perhaps a bit too cozy for Harry, but it was still nice to sit in front of it and lean against Draco.

It was especially nice to have him so close when Harry knew he was about to initiate what had the potential to be a difficult conversation. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked finally, once he could put it off no longer.

Draco tensed behind him, but that was the only indication that he was worried about what this conversation might bring. “Of course you can,” he said, and stroked gentle fingers down Harry’s still-flat stomach.

Harry wondered how long it would be flat for, and what he would do when it wasn’t anymore, and when he couldn’t just pretend that he was absolutely fine and everyone who thought he was pregnant was just a little bit crazy. Instead of asking that, he asked, “What’s going to happen when your mother decides that we’re well enough to sleep away from each other?”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple and smoothed the hair on the other side of Harry’s head. “What would happen?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I mean, wouldn’t I be moved out of your rooms if you don’t need to keep me here anymore?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Draco slid out from behind him and shifted just enough so that he could look at Harry. He seemed incredibly confused. “Do you want to be moved back to your old rooms? I thought that we were making progress, Harry. What’s wrong?”

Harry shook his head. He raked a hand through his hair and then left it there, his fingers tangled in his own hair. “Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted. He pulled the rest of the way away from Draco and stood up, then he started to pace. “Nothing’s wrong at all. I just… I just wanted to know what would happen when I’m finally doing better, when you don’t have to be stuck to my side anymore.”

Draco drew in a deep breath, but didn’t say anything for a long time. It felt like an eternity stretching between them, and Harry sudden regretted bringing the conversation up at all. Finally, carefully, he said, “I wasn’t planning on having you move back to your old suite. Is that something you’d like to do?”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not what I’m trying to say,” he said, trying not to let his frustration at not being understood show. It wasn’t Draco’s fault that he couldn’t get his words out clearly enough. “I just… when you don’t have to spend time with me anymore, does that mean that you’re not going to?”

Draco blew out a breath. “Of course that’s not what’s going to happen,” Draco said. Soft hands touched Harry’s shoulders, and then Draco was twirling him around to face him. He smiled, the expression just a little bit sad. “I have to say, I thought you understood what was going to happen. We’ll be together, as we should have been from the start. As my husband, and the mother of my children, you’ll be honored. You’ll stay with me, be faithful, be my proper spouse, and in return, I’ll give you all of the same respect.”

Harry looked down at his hands, which were toying nervously with the hems of his sleeves. “I see,” he said, though he had to admit that he wasn’t really sure at all. What exactly was a proper spouse? Did he mean like the way that Vernon treated Petunia, or the way that Molly had treated Arthur on those few occasions that Harry had had the chance to see them together?

Was that to be his fate? To be run over, pushed down, for the rest of his life? It was no different than what he’d expected when he first arrived in the new Malfoy Manor after the ceremony, but somehow, hearing that that was what Draco wanted only hurt more now that Harry had had a chance to be cherished the way he maybe thought he always wanted to be.

“Isn’t that what you want?” Draco asked, his voice shaking a little bit. Harry could feel something welling up in the bond, a sort of hurt that he didn’t quite understand.

Who would want to be treated like that? “I don’t know,” he admitted. He didn’t look at Draco as he said it, and so was surprised when the bond slammed shut between them. He flinched to feel it, and looked up, only to see that Draco’s eyes had closed off, his expression going cold.

“I need to go,” Draco said, backing up a step. The space his hands left on Harry’s shoulders were cold.

“Draco,” Harry started, sure that he’d done something wrong, that he’d messed the conversation up terribly, and now Draco was never going to forgive him.

“I’ll be back,” Draco said. “Once you’ve had time to think about what you actually want from this relationship.” He turned and swept from the room, and even though it was summer, not even the fire could keep Harry properly warm.

He’d made a terrible mistake initiating this conversation. What had he been thinking? Why would anyone ever want him to be anything more than exactly what Draco wanted from him? He’d known all along that he wasn’t worthy of a real relationship.

Merlin, he had no idea what a real relationship would even look like!

All that nonsense about being the mother of the child, and motherhood being sacred, had it all been a lie? Harry had no idea. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and huddled in on himself. He tried to ignore the way that his eyes were watering, the way that his heart was breaking at the feel of the bond between them being sealed off once more.

What even was the point of the bond, if Draco would just slam it shut every time he got angry with Harry?

On the other hand, Harry thought it was better than feeling the anger. And his panic at the thought of messing things up… Draco wouldn’t want to be feeling that. So maybe it was for the best that the bond had been slammed shut.

Maybe it would be for the best if it never got opened again. It hurt too much when it slammed shut, and Harry was tired of hurting.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry hadn’t known what to expect when Draco had left and the bond had slammed closed, but he’d honestly thought that the other would be back before it got too late. But as the night continued, and Draco didn’t show up, Harry realized how very lonely this new room was.

It felt worse than his old room, but maybe that was just because he’d had time to get used to having company.

The blanket wasn’t doing much to keep him warm now, and he was starting to feel queasy. Was he getting sick again? Had he gone too long without being in contact with Draco? What would happen to the baby? Narcissa had said that he might have miscarried if Draco hadn’t started spending time with him, so…

Harry shivered and curled even more tightly in on himself. He didn’t want to miscarry. He still had trouble believing that he was pregnant, but if he was, if he really was, and everyone around him seemed to think that he was, then he didn’t want to lose the child. He wanted a chance at a family, and if that family was with Draco, well…

But he’d ruined his chances with Draco.

Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut? Wouldn’t that make his life so much easier, if he just accepted that things were going to be the way that they were, and… and there was nothing he could do about it.

He sniffled and tried to scrub the tears from his eyes. If Draco wanted him to be his proper spouse, whatever that meant, Harry was sure that he could find a way. He’d survived for years in the Dursley household, after all. And Draco at least was inclined to feed him properly, or at least, Harry thought he was.

The room felt too big without Draco in it. It was bigger than his old room had been, and this was just the sitting room, and it was too much without Draco with him to share it. He’d ruined everything, and now Draco was gone and he probably wouldn’t be back, and Harry should just get used to that. He should…

He got up, his knees shaking beneath him. It was hard to stagger around the sitting room, and he didn’t even know where the closet was. The house elves had been bringing him his clothes, and he hadn’t explored all that much because Draco had been by his side, and—

The door opened. “I assume you’ve had some time to think?”

Harry froze. He hunched in on himself, making himself as small as possible, and didn’t turn to face Draco. He probably wouldn’t like to see Harry’s face tear-stained and covered with snot from his tears. He was a wreck.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice went softer, more careful, and some of the frost that Harry hadn’t even noticed until it was gone disappeared.

“I…” Harry didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what Draco wanted to hear. But… “I have?” he tried. His voice wavered, and he could feel tears still dripping down his cheeks. His nose was clogged. He was disgusting.

How had he ever thought that maybe he could be happy with Draco? This was what he was, this pathetic, slavering freak of a—

“Harry,” Draco breathed. Harry felt Draco behind him, heat and warmth, and then strong hands were on his shoulders again. “What have you done to yourself?” Draco asked as he gently forced Harry to turn around.

“You… you were angry, and I don’t—” Harry swallowed to clear his throat. “I don’t understand. Relationships, I mean. You say you want me to be a proper spouse, but I don’t exactly have a lot of ideas about what that looks like. I don’t think it’s like my Aunt and Uncle, who I grew up with, and I don’t think it’s like Molly and Arthur, but those are the only married couples I ever spent time around, and I just—”

“Breathe, Harry,” Draco murmured. He stroked back Harry’s hair with a gentle, trembling hand. “Just breathe. Don’t get yourself all worked up. We’ll work this out.” He kept up the soothing litany as he pulled Harry towards him, and backed them up to the couch.

There, Draco settled down and pulled Harry into his lap. Harry went without protest, and buried his face immediately in Draco’s neck. He felt the bond open between them, slow and cautious, like Draco didn’t know what reaction he would get. Maybe like he was trying to shelter himself from the worst of Harry’s emotions.

Harry didn’t blame him. He was feeling pretty terrible.

Draco breathed out, and his hands shook against Harry’s back for just a moment. Then, slowly, he started smoothing his fingers through Harry’s hair and running his other hand up and down Harry’s spine. “Okay,” he said, as Harry’s breathing evened out. “Feeling a bit better?”

Harry nodded, but didn’t try to talk. He wasn’t sure that he could. His throat felt raw, and there was a massive lump in it. If he tried, he might just start crying again. He really didn’t want to start crying again.

“Okay,” Draco murmured. He continued to stroke Harry, petting him almost like one might pet an animal.

That was fine. Harry didn’t mind being petted like that. It was nice, having Draco touching him like this. As long as Draco was soothing him, he didn’t think that Draco was mad at him. He still couldn’t tell. All of the emotions he was picking up from Draco’s side of the bond were worry and fear. He didn’t understand the fear.

“Why are you frightened?” he asked, his voice hoarse. That was at least something he could focus on without making himself more upset.

“You have no idea what you looked like when I came in, do you?” Draco asked.

Harry didn’t think that was an answer. “I’d imagine I wasn’t particularly pretty,” he said finally. He coughed a little, trying to clear his throat. It hurt. And his eyes felt hot and swollen, too.

“That’s not what I meant,” Draco muttered. He snapped his fingers, and when there was a quiet pop, he said, “Bring us some cold water, please? Harry’s thirsty.”

Harry really wasn’t, but then, he couldn’t deny that the water would probably feel good on his throat. He didn’t object. And when the elf returned and handed Draco the glass, Harry sipped from it without protest. Once it was empty, he buried his face in Draco’s neck once more.

“Let’s talk about what made you panic like that,” Draco said finally. “I don’t want to upset you like that again, which means that we need to have a conversation about it. And about what you want from this relationship, because I’m concerned that you have a very wrong idea of what I meant when I suggested that we have a proper one.”

The last thing Harry wanted was to have this conversation, but he knew that Draco was probably right. He couldn’t keep tearing himself apart like this, and Draco shouldn’t have to be afraid of what were probably perfectly reasonable conversation topics.

“Okay,” Harry finally said. He started to slide off of Draco’s lap, but didn’t fight too hard when Draco didn’t let him go. The contact between them was nice, and Harry was loathe to give up the comfort of being in Draco’s lap.

“When I told you that I wanted a proper relationship, a proper spouse, I just meant that I wanted a partner. A true partner, not… not whatever you were likely imagining.” Draco tilted Harry’s head up so that Harry didn’t have anywhere to look but Draco’s eyes. They were shining, bright and sincere. “I don’t want to control you, and I would never want to hurt you. You’re my partner now, Harry, and you and I are in this together.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. He looked down, tugging his head free of Draco’s grip. He stood up, then, and Draco didn’t stop him. He wanted Draco’s comfort, but he couldn’t sit still, suddenly. He needed to be up, to be moving, because he was nervous and he didn’t know how to contain the energy inside of him.

“I don’t know what that is,” he said finally. He continued to pace. “Molly and Arthur were close, I guess, but she was a bit controlling, as you might imagine. At least, from what I remember.” He glanced at Draco, then away. “I didn’t really get to see them much once the war picked up, once I was in training all the time. And you can imagine that I wasn’t exposed to a lot of healthy ro-romantic relationships while in training.” He couldn’t help the way he stumbled over the word ‘romantic,’ because he still wasn’t used to thinking about them in that context. It was nice, though. That part, he thought he liked.

“And before Hogwarts?” Draco prompted. “You mentioned your Aunt and Uncle?”

Harry exhaled forcefully. He stopped pacing and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” he muttered. “They… they weren’t good role models of anything, honestly. He was… he was terrifying, and I’m pretty sure I saw him hit my Aunt once. And she was just as bad, in her own way.” He shivered, remembering the cold look in her eyes when Dudley had broken Harry’s arm, the way she’d refused to take him to the doctor.

“Harry,” Draco started. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Can I hold you again?” he asked.

Harry glanced up at him, then nodded. He returned to the couch and let himself be wrapped up in Draco’s arms. It was warm and safe there, no matter the fact that they’d been fighting earlier. He liked being held by Draco, genuinely and truly.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered how much he’d missed by devoting so much of his life to stopping Voldemort. And failing, given the situation that he was in now. Still, he didn’t regret being with Draco. Not anymore. He thought maybe he might be happy that had happened.

“Can you tell me more about what your Aunt and Uncle were like?” Draco asked, his voice soft and without judgment.

Harry frowned. That was one of his least favorite subjects. He’d been so pleased when he was told he wouldn’t have to go back during Fifth year, when he’d started training full time for the war. Everything with them had been so long ago, the thought of talking about it now…

“You don’t have to,” Draco continued, obviously picking up some of his hesitance from their bond. “But I think it would help you. It would certainly help me to understand you a little better.”

Harry swallowed. “Okay,” he muttered. “I just… it was a bad time, growing up. They didn’t feed me, and they didn’t like me, and they called me a freak, and they never touched me unless they were disciplining me. So it probably wasn’t as bad as you were thinking, but it wasn’t great, either.”

Draco pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Harry almost melted into him. He did let the last of his tension drain from him. “That’s nice,” he whispered.

“I’m glad,” Draco replied. He smoothed Harry’s hair for a long, silent moment, then asked, very quietly, “Would you let me kill them for you?”

Harry couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him. “I don’t even know if they’re alive,” he said through his laughter. “And even if they were, wouldn’t that be a violation of the terms of the treaty?”

Draco sniffed. “You ask me that like I care,” he said, a bit haughtily. He pressed another kiss to Harry’s forehead. “But if you’d rather I not look, then I won’t.”

“Please don’t,” Harry said. He leaned up, hesitantly, and pressed his lips to Draco’s. The kiss was soft and sweet, and when Harry pulled back, he was smiling slightly. “I’d rather you stay with me than try to kill them. If we’re going to be proper partners and all.”

“We are,” Draco murmured. He leaned down and took Harry’s lips in a longer, significantly less chaste kiss. Harry did melt against him then, although he spoiled the effects of the kiss with a yawn. “Tired?” Draco asked, pulling back ever so slightly.

“Panicking is exhausting,” Harry replied.

“Then we should get some rest,” Draco murmured. “We have had a very long day, after all.”

Harry smiled at him, then yelped when he was lifted effortlessly into Draco’s arms and carried into the bedroom, where he was lowered to the bed. Draco wrapped himself around him.

In the silence, Harry asked quietly, “Draco?”

“What is it?” Draco murmured, his voice still warm with affection that Harry could feel through the bond.

“Can you please stop shutting down the bond?” Harry asked, his voice very small. “It hurts when you do.” He rolled over and hid his face in Draco’s neck again, not wanting to see his face when he answered.

“I’ll try to remember,” Draco said finally, after a long silence.

“That’s all I can ask,” Harry said, and closed his eyes. He fell asleep, still smiling, and so much less worried about where he stood with Draco than he had been.

ooOOooOOoo

In the morning, after a quick and light breakfast, Draco murmured to Harry, “I’d like to show you something.”

Harry, unused to being escorted from his rooms so early in the morning, just nodded and leaned into Draco as they walked through the Manor. They wandered the halls until they entered the family wing, where Harry had been housed before everyone had realized that he was pregnant. He thought that maybe they were going back to his old rooms, or maybe to Draco’s regular rooms, but instead they entered an entirely different suite.

When they walked in, Harry found that he was looking at a set of rooms that felt… that felt like home. He couldn’t figure out why, and then it hit him. There were things of his scattered throughout the rooms. His photo album of his parents and their friends was on the bookshelf, his Firebolt was mounted on the wall, just above Draco’s broom. Some of the few things he had with Gryffindor colors were displayed, and when they went into the bedroom, his Gryffindor quilt that the Headmaster had given him was on their bed.

Draco’s things were there too. His broom, which Harry had already seen, a pillow on the couch that looked like it had come straight from the Slytherin common room, and a handful of other things scattered throughout the rooms.

“Are these ours?” Harry asked, and then felt ridiculous for asking. Of course the rooms were intended to be theirs. Why else would all of their things be on display?

“They are,” Draco murmured. He kissed Harry’s cheek, then nudged him further into the room. “I know how much you liked the gardens, so I thought you might like having your own personal one to work with.”

Harry blinked, then followed the line of Draco’s hand where he was gesturing. There was a small door off to the side of the room, and when he opened it, he found himself in a small, private courtyard. There were numerous flowerbeds, a handful of trees, and even a small pond off in one corner. There were two benches, and a hammock was slung between the trees.

Harry smiled, his eyes watering just a little bit. “I love it,” he said honestly. He turned and hugged Draco. “These rooms could be a very nice home.”

“I’m glad,” Draco said. The bond told Harry exactly how much he meant it.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry had spent almost the entirety of the day in the garden. It had been wonderful to be outside, to feel the gentle warmth of the sun on his skin. And it was nice to be able to play in the dirt again, like he’d done when he was younger.

Of course, now he didn’t have his Aunt hovering over his shoulder, demanding that he do things exactly as she’d ordered. That only made things better.

It was almost reminiscent of his Herbology classes, something Harry had regretted not studying as closely as he could have. When Draco finally coaxed him inside for a late lunch of soup, Harry asked him if he could maybe get a few texts on the subject of magical plants. The expression of genuine joy in Draco’s eyes at the request would have made it worth it, even if he hadn’t wanted them.

When he came back in an hour before dinner, there were a few books stacked on the table. Two were on standard herbology, and one was for aquatic plants. He thought maybe it might have been the one that fake Moody had loaned him all those years ago, but he couldn’t be sure.

Harry smiled at them and fought the urge to settle in and read. He instead headed for the bathroom and started a quick shower so that he could be ready in time for dinner.

He’d only just stepped out into the now-steaming bathroom when someone tapped on the door. “Can I come in?” Draco asked after Harry called out an answer.

Harry flushed. “I’m not dressed,” he said. He wrapped a towel around his waist, then said, “I guess you can come in if you’d like.”

Draco swept into the room, and when his eyes lit on Harry, they brightened with a sort of hunger that Harry was really uncertain about when he stopped to think about it. He knew that Draco found him desirable because he could feel it from his bonded husband, but he didn’t know how he felt about that, and he tried his hardest not to focus on it.

“What’s up?” Harry asked, a bit nervous. He wanted to cover his naked stomach, but didn’t make a move to do so. He’d been the one to invite Draco in; he could make himself be comfortable like this. He shouldn’t have done it if he didn’t want Draco to look at him.

Besides, if he moved his hands, he might drop his towel, and he didn’t think he could live with that humiliation.

“I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” Draco said. He stepped closer to Harry, then carefully reached out and touched Harry’s cheek. “But maybe we should wait until you’ve gotten dressed,” he murmured, and leaned in and kissed Harry.

The touch of his lips was electric, and Harry shivered through the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed. Draco’s hand felt like a brand on his cheek, Harry was so very aware of it. When Draco pulled back, Harry licked at his lips involuntarily, capturing the taste of him.

Draco pulled all the way back. When he dropped his hand, Harry raised his own to touch his cheek. It felt cold without his hand there. “We should talk in the sitting room,” Draco said, his voice a little hoarse. “I’d say we could eat in our rooms, but we can’t do that tonight.”

Harry blinked at him, still a little dazed. “Why?” he asked, as his mind came back to him. “I know that you like eating with your parents, of course, but surely they wouldn’t begrudge us a night spent together.”

Draco’s lips parted at the words, and Harry wondered what he’d said to cause that reaction in his husband. “Of course not,” Draco said after a long moment of silence. “But we have a visitor tonight, and we need to be at dinner.”

A guest? Harry frowned at Draco, confused. In all the time he’d been at the new Malfoy Manor, he’d only ever seen Astoria, who had been staying as Draco’s potential mistress. “Who—”

“After you’re dressed,” Draco said quickly. He leaned in and pressed another long, soft kiss to Harry’s lips. “Or I’m afraid I won’t let you get dressed, and then where will we be?”

Oh. Oh, of course. Draco… wanted him. The thought made Harry flush, his eyes widening behind the protection of his glasses. “Sorry,” he squeaked, and then bit his lip. “I’ll just go get dressed then,” he added, and slid past Draco.

“There are robes laid out on our bed,” Draco said, not trying to stop Harry from moving, but also not moving out of the way so that Harry had no choice but to press up against him.

It felt distressingly nice. “Right,” Harry said, and ducked out of the bathroom before he could dwell on why being pressed so close to Draco felt so good in that moment. He knew it had to do with sex, he wasn’t that much of an innocent, but having only had the one terribly overwhelming and painful experience, he wasn’t exactly eager to experience that again.

Maybe it would be different the second time?

Harry drew in a deep breath and forced himself to stop musing on the matter. Either it would or it wouldn’t, and there was nothing to do about it one way or the other. He knew it would come up again; he just hoped that he didn’t disappoint Draco when it finally did, because he didn’t know when he’d be ready to try again, no matter what his body was feeling.

The robes laid out on the bed were some of the fanciest Harry had ever worn, and certainly the fanciest he’d worn since coming to Malfoy Manor. They were a beautiful shade of dark green, in the exact same shade as the Malfoy family crest. There was a black shirt to wear beneath them, and the buttons were silver and shining as he did them up.

Harry took a deep, shaky breath. He was starting to suspect that he knew exactly who was coming for dinner, and the very idea made his heart pound. Not because he was afraid of him, but because he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to behave himself.

His self-control, particularly when it came to Voldemort, had never been great.

But he could be wrong, so he forced himself to finish dressing and to go to the sitting room to meet Draco, who, he now realized, was also dressed in a particularly fancy robe. It was Harry’s opposite, a severe black with a green undershirt and silver buttons. It looked very good on him.

Instead of focusing on that, no matter how much he wanted to, Harry said, his voice only trembling slightly, “Please tell me that I’m wrong about who came to dinner.”

“I wish that I could,” Draco said. He crossed the room to pull Harry into his arms and held him close. “He won’t hurt you. I’d say he wouldn’t dare, but that’s not quite right. He just won’t hurt you while you’re with child.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh. “You don’t know that,” he whispered. And besides, it wasn’t that he was afraid of Voldemort hurting him; it was more that he was afraid of hurting Voldemort and making Draco suffer the consequences.

“I do,” Draco replied, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “He’s given his word. This is just a meeting to see how far you’ve come during your time here. He’s promised to be kind.”

Harry had a hard time thinking of the Dark Lord being particularly kind to anyone, much less him. But it wasn’t like he could choose not to go to dinner, and it wasn’t like he could do anything about the Dark Lord’s presence, save potentially duelling him and getting Draco hurt, since he didn’t trust the Dark Lord to fight fair.

“Okay,” he said, his voice still shaking. “I’ll do my best to be on my own good behavior,” he whispered. This would be his first time seeing the Dark Lord since the ceasefire had been agreed to. He didn’t want to break that streak of Voldemort-free days, but there was nothing for it.

“I’ll stay by your side,” Draco murmured, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Now we should go, before we’re late.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. He let Draco take his hand and lead him in the general direction of the much larger dining room, the formal one, that he’d seen only once, and had never eaten in.

This was going to be a disaster. He wondered idly if Draco even realized that he didn’t know how to behave at a formal dinner, then shoved the thought out of his mind. There was nothing to do about it now, anyway.

ooOOooOOoo

While Harry’s robes may have looked impressive, and they did, they definitely weren’t comfortable. He found himself fidgeting with them even before Voldemort joined them at the table, and once the Dark Lord had arrived, his fidgeting only got worse. He kept trying to stop, because Lucius shot him a death glare each time he got caught, but it just wasn’t working.

He was miserable, and wanted nothing more than to flee the awkward situation. Or grab his wand and start fighting the Dark Lord, but that wouldn’t do any good, and was a terrible idea for a number of reasons.

With both of those options out of the picture, he stuck to sitting at the table with his head bowed, barely picking at his admittedly delicious food. He tried to eat, he really did, because he knew that he needed to keep his calorie intake up for the baby, but Voldemort’s presence was rather off putting. No one could possibly expect him to eat with the abomination sitting across from him.

No one except for Narcissa, perhaps. “Harry, dear, is your stomach a bit upset, perhaps?” she asked, her voice gentle but impersonal, almost businesslike. It made sense for her to ask, given that she was his Healer, but Harry wished that she hadn’t.

“No, Narcissa,” he said, because he didn’t want to lie to her. An upset stomach probably wasn’t that big a deal in the scheme of things, but he thought that lying to his Healer was a particularly bad idea. “Just nervous,” he admitted, darting a look at Voldemort.

The monster looked more amused than anything else. “Do I frighten you, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked, emphasizing Harry’s new last name.

Harry let himself look up, let himself glare. “You do not,” he said, his voice just a little bit frigid. He dropped his hand below the table to reassure himself that his wand was still there.

Draco tangled their fingers together before he could draw it. “Relax,” his husband murmured. “It’s fine.” He stroked his thumb along Harry’s hand, and didn’t let go until Harry forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out.

Once his hand was freed, Harry forced himself to take a small spoonful of his excellent soup. The presence of Voldemort was still a bitter seasoning, but he felt better now that his animosity was out in the open.

“I must tell you, Mr. Malfoy, that I’m glad that your fire hasn’t been dimmed by your time here in the Manor,” Voldemort said, swirling his wine glass idly. “Do you think that you could bring yourself to speak privately with me at the conclusion of this wonderful meal?”

Harry froze. He dropped his hand and clutched at Draco’s once more, his fingers going white with the strain. He didn’t answer the question for fear saying something vicious, or accidentally hexing the thing sitting across from him.

Draco let out a small grunt, but didn’t otherwise protest. In fact, he said smoothly, “My apologies, my lord, but I did promise Harry that I would remain by his side for the duration of your visit.” His voice was perfectly cordial, and the only way that Harry knew he was nervous at all was by the way that his own fingers tightened on Harry’s.

“Is that so?” Voldemort asked, clearly amused.

He didn’t say anything else about it, and over the next few courses, no other comment was made. The rest of the meal went fairly well, and every time Harry made an aborted gesture to the wrong fork or spoon, Draco carefully steered him in the right direction. No one made fun of him for his lack of knowledge, either, which was a bit of a relief.

Not that Harry would have minded if Voldemort had made fun of him. Honestly, if he was pushed to admit it, he would have preferred a bit more hostility to the meal. As it was, it was only slightly less awkward than some of his meals with the Dursleys had been, and that just didn’t feel right.

Voldemort was a mass murdering monster who had somehow made himself virtually immortal, in a way that no one, not even Dumbledore himself, had ever figured out. Eating with him should be worse than eating with the Dursleys, not slightly better.

By the time Harry’s dessert arrived, a truly decadent pastry of some kind with a sweet cream sauce that was perhaps the most phenomenal thing that Harry had ever tasted, he was thoroughly miserable, and also thoroughly invested in eating away his frustrations. Unfortunately, frustration didn’t make for any better a seasoning than fear did, so the meal had been thoroughly ruined for Harry.

And, once it was over, Voldemort said, “I will speak with you in private now, Harry.” He smiled when Harry’s head jerked up in surprise. “I understand that your husband promised not to leave you alone with the big bad Dark Lord, but he is still my loyal subject, and as such, he really doesn’t have any authority to stop me from meeting with you in private if I’d like.”

Draco opened his mouth to protest, and with a snarled word from Voldemort, he was hunched over in his chair, his body twisting and writhing in agony. Just before he fell to the ground, the Dark Lord cancelled the spell.

“Do you want to see me torture your husband?” Voldemort asked Harry. “Because I can and will oblige if you choose to be difficult about this.”

  
“I’ll meet with you,” Harry said through stiff lips. It had been months since he’d seen someone cursed like that. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, and he turned to Draco, who was panting, his head resting on the table. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice as soothing as he could make it. “Let your mother look you over, and once the meeting is over, I’ll come back to our rooms.”

Draco looked at him, his eyes dark with pain and frustration and helplessness. Harry could read it all over his face, could feel it in their bond, and he ached for him. “Be careful,” was all that Draco said, finally. “I’ll see you in our rooms.”

Harry nodded, then leaned in and shyly, swiftly placed a kiss on Draco’s lips. Then he stood. “Are you coming, my lord?” he asked, with sneering emphasis on the last two words.

Voldemort laughed, the sound oddly cheerful in a room as silent as a tomb. “Please, Mr. Malfoy, lead the way,” he said, standing.

Harry swept out of the formal dining room, Voldemort walking closely behind him. He didn’t know where he was going, exactly, but he supposed that any room would do.

Eventually, Voldemort asked, “Do you even know where you’re going?” There was a startling, uncomfortable note of genuine laughter in his voice as he asked the question.

Harry stopped, then turned around and glared at Voldemort. “I do not,” he admitted. He fingered his wand. “Maybe I just wanted to get you alone so that I could try my hardest to kill you once again.”

Voldemort studied him, then smiled, the expression looking awkward on his snake-like face. “You didn’t,” he said, no doubt in his voice. “You wouldn’t risk the child growing within you for such a thing. That much I know for sure.”

Voldemort was right, of course. Harry would never risk his child in a duel, no matter how much he wanted to kill the smarmy bastard in front of him. Besides, there was every chance that he would lose and die, and he was just now starting to be happy with his life here at the new Manor.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just pick a room, I guess, my lord.” He still sneered when he said it, and when Voldemort swept past him, he dipped into a mocking little bow.

“I like you, Malfoy,” Voldemort said as he led the way. In a few turns, they were entering a small office with two large chairs, a couch, and a fireplace that was currently unlit. Most of the shelves in the office had a fine layer of dust on them, which Harry found to be mildly amusing since he’d never seen a speck of dust anywhere else in the house.

“The Greengrass family came to meet with me,” Voldemort said, settling in one of the two chairs. “I was concerned by their report, so I wanted to come and see what was going on here at the Manor for myself.” He gestured at the other seat. “Go on, Harry, take a seat.”

The last thing that Harry wanted was to sit down with Voldemort, but with gritted teeth, his fingers knotted together so that he didn’t reach for his wand, Harry forced himself to settle in the seat in question. “And what did you think of me, my lord?” he asked. His lip curled as he addressed Voldemort by his preferred title; he couldn't stop himself even though he knew he should be more careful.

“I think that the Malfoys have tamed you,” Voldemort said. He leaned back in his chair, a picture of relaxation. “I think that pregnancy is doing wonders on you. You really won’t do anything to me because you're frightened for the child. Your child. I never thought I would see the day.”

Harry swallowed and looked at his hands, which were still knotted together. “I never thought I would either. I never thought I would have any kind of family, because I kind of figured that you would kill me before I could.”

Voldemort’s smile faded slightly. “The Greengrass family has asked me to annul your marriage,” he said. “To be honest, I came here to see if that was something that I could make work. They’ve been great supporters of me, as you may not have known, surpassed only by the Malfoys.”

Harry swallowed. “And what did you decide?” he asked. He let himself relax and touched the wand at his side. He didn’t want to lose his marriage to Draco. He didn’t want to potentially lose his child, or to be given to another family as some kind of war prize. And wouldn’t annulling his marriage ruin the treaty? Did Voldemort even care about that?

“Are you going to attack me if I tell you that I’ve decided it’s not worth the trouble to keep you around?” Voldemort asked, his voice filled with polite interest, like they were sitting in front of an audience.

Harry forced his fingers away from his wand. “I might,” he said. He made himself settle more deeply into the chair. While he was more than willing to deal with whatever hostilities Voldemort initiated, he knew that it wouldn’t be wise to start them himself.

“Interesting,” Voldemort said. He looked away, his lips curled into a smug little smile.

Harry fought the urge to demand clarification. What was interesting? What had Voldemort decided? Had he just come here to torment Harry? That was probably in character for him.

“As it happens, I am well aware that annulling your marriage would do irreparable harm to the treaty I signed with the Ministry of Magic,” Voldemort said. “That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t mind damaging the treaty, especially not now that we’ve had time to make our island defensible, but I’m not inclined to do it because one spoiled little bitch isn’t getting the man she thought she would be.” Voldemort laughed as he said the last, like it was something Harry should be amused by.

He wasn’t. “So you’re just here to fuck with me,” he said, his voice dull. Was this what he could expect? He didn’t know why he was surprised. Voldemort was an evil, petty bastard, and of course he would enjoy a bit of psychological bloodletting.

“Only a little,” Voldemort said. “One must get their amusements where they can, Harry, when they are stuck running a small country.”

“You could always surrender to the Ministry,” Harry suggested. “Then you wouldn’t be stuck being in charge of anything at all, except maybe your cell in Azkaban. If they let you live that long, that is.”

Voldemort’s laugh was startled and filled with genuine amusement. “I do like you, Harry,” he said through his peals of laughter. “And I hope that the child you’re carrying is well. You know it will be the first born on the island.”

Harry blinked. “I hadn’t realized,” he said honestly, though he supposed it made sense. When would any of Voldemort’s people have had time for pregnancy during the war? Their wives, maybe, but still.

“I think that your impending motherhood will serve to anchor you well to our side,” Voldemort said. He reached out and patted Harry on the cheek, rather condescendingly in Harry’s opinion, then stood. “In general, I find that I’m in favor of anything that will keep you away from trouble, and the Malfoy family seems more than able to do that. I was reluctant to agree to this ceasefire, you know, if only because I know of how much trouble you can be when you put your mind to it.”

Harry flushed. Trouble? Was that the status he was relegated to? He shoved his fury down. “Well, I promise that I’ll do my best not to make trouble for you so long as you leave my new family alone,” he said, his voice sugary sweet.

Voldemort laughed at him again, then turned and left the room. Over his shoulder, he called, “I suppose that’s a bargain I can accept, provided you can find it in your heart to duel with me once you’re no longer in such a delicate state.”

Then he was gone before Harry could ask for any clarification about the last statement, and Harry had to take a moment before moving, because his heart did feel a bit like it was going to pound out of his chest. Once he’d calmed down enough, he stood and started off in the general direction of his room.

He just hoped he didn’t get lost on the way, because he would never live that down.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry managed to find his way back to his room without getting lost, fortunately. Draco was still awake, sitting on the couch, staring into the fire. He barely moved when Harry came back, only shifted so that he extended an arm for Harry to slip under.

Harry didn’t hesitate to do so, snuggling close without worrying about the state of his dress robes. He had the feeling that they could be cleaned or ironed or whatever had to be done to make them presentable again.

“Are you okay?” he asked Draco quietly. He could feel a few lingering aftershocks of pain from the bond, but nothing too awful. He’d certainly felt worse in his time, though he didn’t know if Draco had. He wasn’t sure how often Draco had been cursed before. It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed.

“I’ve been better,” Draco replied. He let his hand fall onto Harry’s shoulder, and Harry was alarmed to feel it trembling slightly against him. “But I wasn’t alone with him. How are you? I didn’t feel anything too awful from the bond.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Harry said. He let his head rest on Draco’s shoulder and took hold of Draco’s hand, cradling it with his own. “He just wanted to make sure that I was settling in, that I was thoroughly bound to your family. I think that if I wasn’t he was going to annul our marriage.”

Draco shuddered against him, and Harry felt him bury his head in Harry’s hair. “I would have fought him,” Draco whispered. “I would have done my absolute best to ruin him if he’d tried to take you away from me.”

Harry shifted, twisting around so that he could lean up and press a shy kiss to Draco’s lips. “It wasn’t so long ago that I would have wanted our marriage annulled,” he said. He offered Draco a shy, hesitant smile. “But now I’m glad that he thinks I’m tamed.”

Draco’s face softened and he smiled, the expression just a bit shaky still. “You, tamed?” he asked, his eyes twinkling ever so slightly. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”

Harry’s smile softened and he leaned up, blushing, for another kiss. Once he’d gotten it and settled back down, he said, “I almost wish that things had gone worse with Voldemort.”

Draco flinched against him. “Please don’t say his name.” Draco spoke the words into Harry’s hair, having buried his face there once more. “Each time you do, it sends shivers down my spine. It’s like nails on a chalkboard, Harry.”

Harry let out a small huff. “It’s just a name, Draco.” He glanced up at him, then said slyly, “I could always call him Tom, since I’m not going to call him the Dark Lord, or He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Draco blanched, and Harry immediately felt cruel since he knew his husband wasn’t feeling all that well. “Please don’t,” he begged. “That would be worse. He would murder you if he caught you calling him that.”

“He would try,” Harry muttered. He shifted again so that his back was to Draco and took hold of his hands once more. “But he never could kill me during the war, so I doubt he’d manage it now. I might be p-pregnant, but I’m not helpless.” He hated that he still stumbled over the word, but it remained the strangest truth of his new life.

“I’d really rather not test that, Harry,” Draco said. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s hair. “How about you don’t try to goad the Dark Lord into a duel, at least not until after you’ve given birth, and preferably not even then.”

Harry shifted against him again, then let himself melt into Draco’s arms. “I’ll try,” he said. “But I’m still going to call him Voldemort. You can’t expect me to call him anything else.”

“Why don’t we just not talk about him?” Draco suggested. “It isn’t like it’s come up often in these past few months. I don’t see why we can’t just continue with that trend.”

“I’ll try,” Harry said. “I think he wants me to duel with him again after I give birth, though. Not necessarily a duel where we try to kill each other, though. I kind of got the impression that he’s a bit bored. Since all of you are terrified of him, there’s not really anyone around who can give him a run for his money.”

“Oh, I would really rather that you not do that,” Draco said. Harry could feel his alarm through their bond, and he found himself a bit amused by it. “It’s not funny!” Draco’s alarm turned to genuine annoyance, followed by a flair of anger.

Harry almost backed down, but he closed his eyes and breathed through the urge. He wasn’t going to keep backing away from arguments. He was fragile, yes, and he was terrified that this thing between him and Draco could go terribly wrong, but he couldn’t keep backing down. He had a spine, he knew he did. He’d misplaced it for a while, but it seemed that dinner with Voldemort had helped him find it again.

“It’s a bit funny,” he said instead of immediately apologizing. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he was trying a bit to goad Draco. Draco had promised that he would try to stop locking down the bond, that he would stop running away. This argument was as good a place as any to start testing him.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Draco hissed. His anger flared, and there was a moment where the anger grew distant, diminishing into a small pinprick of emotion that Harry could only just feel, and then it flared back again, bright and hot, as Draco kept the bond from closing.

Harry melted into Draco once more and closed his eyes as the anger washed over him. It hurt, but it wasn’t terrible. He could live with that feeling every now and again, especially since it gave him an honest idea of how Draco was feeling. “I love you,” he said, the words shy and quiet, and entirely out of place from their earlier conversation. “I love you, and if I ever duel Voldemort, I promise that I will keep myself as safe as possible.”

He wouldn’t say that he wouldn’t do it. He was delicate in many aspects, but he’d always been an excellent duellist, and it would be something other than his garden to occupy his time once the baby was born. Something other than the garden and being a parent, of course.

“I suppose it will have to do,” Draco said, his voice still stiff with frustration. But he relaxed against Harry as well, and he made no move to flee the room or shut down the bond again.

By the time they retired to bed that night, the argument was all but forgotten, and Harry was more convinced than ever that he and Draco could have something like a happily ever after, if only they both kept working at it.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry hummed as he worked with one of the plants that had finally taken root. According to one of his books, his humming would help this particular plant to grow faster, since it was partially sentient. It was somewhere between a Mandrake and a Whomping Willow on the scale of intelligence, but it was far prettier than either of the above plants, and far less dangerous.

The cutting he’d planted was finally starting to grow properly, and he couldn’t help but smile as the flowers lit up as he hummed at them.

“Having fun?” Draco asked.

Harry jumped and turned to him, then smiled a little shyly. “The Lightblossom—” he started, a bit sheepish.

“Grows better when sung too, yes, I know.” Draco smiled, the expression soft with affection. “I think you’re adorable when you’re singing at it.”

Harry flushed. “Right,” he said, and turned back to the flower. He didn’t hum again, but he did fiddle with the watering charm to make sure that it was set exactly right. It was, of course. It hadn’t changed since the last three times he’d checked it.

“I thought we could have lunch out here today,” Draco was saying. “Another one of those picnics.”

Harry turned and beamed at him. “That would be nice,” he said. He continued to watch Draco, his eyes narrowing as he took in the slightest tension in Draco’s shoulders that wasn’t normally there. “Is something wrong, though? I thought we were having lunch with your mother.”

Narcissa still loved to check up on him, even though he’d been mostly fine for the past month. His stomach was gently rounding now, and there was no denying that he was pregnant anymore. Not that he’d still been in denial, but sometimes…

It still felt strange to him, and Harry still wasn’t entirely sure that he’d adjusted well to his new status.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Draco said, the words a little too quick. And there was a hint of doubt in the bond between them, and a hint of frustration to go with it.

Harry raised an eyebrow, and wondered if Draco could feel his skepticism. “Really?” he asked, his lips twitching ever so slightly. Draco could at least try a little harder than that if he was trying to hide something from Harry.

Draco sighed and stepped further into the garden. He pressed a quick, gentle kiss to Harry’s lips, then pulled back. “Astoria’s parents have come,” he said. “They’re speaking with my parents. I don’t know what about, and, quite frankly, I don’t particularly care. I’m sure that they’re coming to plead their daughter’s case once more.”

Harry shivered. “But that won’t do any good, right?” he asked, a bit anxiously. He tried to fight down the sudden flare of anxiety, and only succeeded when Draco stroked fingers through his hair and took his lips in another kiss, this one longer and softer.

“Of course it won’t,” Draco said. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead, then pulled back slightly. “You’re the mother of my child, Harry, and I would never dishonor you by taking a mistress. And…” Draco flushed, and Harry felt the thing that made his heart pound in a combination of fear and need.

He’d been feeling it more often lately, the strange feeling. It was warm and sweet, but hungry at the same time. It was a deep feeling, one that always felt like it was going to engulf Harry whenever it showed up. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time, and Harry didn’t know what it was.

Well. That wasn’t quite accurate. He thought maybe he did know what it was, but he didn’t want to name it. Not yet. Not until he was sure, because if he was wrong…

Harry didn’t think he could live with his own humiliation if he was wrong about what Draco was feeling.

“Of course it won’t make a difference,” Harry said, and smiled. “When did you want to eat lunch?” He deliberately ignored that feeling inside of Draco until it went away, and then, as always, Harry felt almost bereft at the loss of it.

But it was okay. It would be back, Harry knew. And when it was, maybe Harry would be able to acknowledge it, because he was certain that was what Draco was waiting for.

“I thought I’d have the house elves bring us something in a few minutes,” Draco said. He didn’t pull away from Harry, and instead stepped even closer, so that they were practically sharing the air between them. “Did you want to show me the progress you’ve made today?” he asked, his voice low.

Harry shivered at the sound of it, this time not in fear, but with a sudden surge of want that he still wasn’t quite prepared to acknowledge. He pulled away, putting some distance between them, and tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment that rose within Draco when he did.

“I haven’t made much progress,” Harry said. “You’ve seen the Lightblossoms, of course. They’re growing well, and I think I might be able to get the Singing Roses to do their singing bit soon.” Harry hesitated, then said, “I might try to test and see if the Lightblossoms respond to the Singing Roses or not. It would make sense, right? If they just like music?”

Harry wondered if anyone had ever tried it before. It seemed a fairly obvious thing to try, but Harry had found that wizards were often somewhat lacking in common sense. They didn’t try things that just made sense, like putting a musical plant with a plant that liked music.

“That would be an interesting thing to test,” Draco said. He didn’t say anything about Harry’s moving away, and the feeling of disappointment had faded into the warm affection that harry was starting to get used to feeling from Draco. “If you find that they do work well together, you could probably get a paper published about it.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Maybe,” he said. He didn’t particularly want to write a paper. That had been one of the things he hadn’t missed about school once he’d been pulled out to train for the war. Writing papers had never been his strong suit.

The door slammed open, and Harry jumped a little. He turned, drawing his wand without even really thinking about it. Neither Narcissa nor Lucius would slam a door, and Draco was right here with him.

And there she was, a stranger that Harry couldn’t recognize but looked vaguely like he thought he remembered Astoria looking. “This is all your fault,” the woman snarled, advancing on Harry. “My little girl had her heart set on Draco, and now she won’t eat or sleep! I’ll make sure that you feel the same!”

She raised her wand, and barked out a string of Latin that Harry didn’t recognize.

Harry dodged the curse, because that was what it had to be, then fired back a simple _“Expelliarmus!”_

It didn’t hit, but Harry wasn’t terribly surprised. While she rallied for another spell, Harry was already casting _“Bombarda!”_ at the ground beneath her feet.

The resulting explosion knocked her back into the wall of the manor, and Harry swayed in place, suddenly dizzy. He sat on the ground, not even trying to keep to his feet, even as Draco rushed to his side. “I’m okay,” Harry said before Draco could ask. He could feel his worry, his sudden fear.

“I should have—” Draco took a deep breath. “Harry, I just… I froze. I should have—”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I’m fine.” He leaned into Draco, who was carefully touching his face and shoulders. “I’m just dizzy. That’s all. You know I’ve fought worse people than her, and in worse condition.” Never while pregnant, of course, because Harry hadn’t even known it was possible, but he’d definitely fought in worse condition than this.

“Okay,” Draco breathed, and kissed him quickly. “Okay. You were magnificent. I doubt Lady Greengrass was expecting such a resistance.”

“Which is stupid,” Harry said, letting himself list further into Draco’s embrace. “It’s like everyone forgets I was a major player during the war now that I’m pregnant.”

“We don’t forget it, Harry,” Narcissa said from the doorway, sounding only slightly out of breath. “We just forget that you weren’t raised as a pureblood, and as such, you don’t react in ways that we expect. Typically, a pregnant witch or wizard will allow their partner to defend them rather than reacting on their own. Too much magic being expelled from the body is bad for the baby, Harry.” She sighed as she studied him. “And now I’m afraid that you’re going to have to submit to a checkup while my husband and my son deal with this nonsense.”

Harry thought about protesting, but then saw the exasperated look on Narcissa’s face, and the way that she’d planted her hands on her hips, and decided that protesting wouldn’t do him a bit of good. “Of course,” he said, giving in gracefully.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry settled onto the bed he shared with Draco, in their room, something he still marveled over when given the privacy to do so, and waited patiently while Narcissa cast a few diagnostic spells on him.

“I don’t like the look of your magic levels,” she said finally, once she’d stopped casting. “You’ll be fine, of course, but casting like that took a bit out of you. I think I’d prefer it if you stayed in bed for the rest of the day.”

Harry checked a sigh. She was only looking out for what was best for him, Harry knew that. He just… ugh. Stuck in bed for another day. He felt like he’d only just gotten permission to leave his bed again, for all that he’d been up and mobile for a while now.

“If you say so,” he said, allowing a bit of a pout to creep into his voice. It would have been almost impossible to stop it, so he didn’t try. “Should Draco stay with me?” he asked, his voice brightening a bit. It wouldn’t be so bad if he had company.

“He doesn’t have to,” Narcissa said, looking a bit blank. Then her eyes brightened as well as she caught on to the question. “Of course, just because he doesn’t have to doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t. I’ll let him know once I’ve finished the exam.”

Harry wrinkled his nose, unable to help himself. “You mean that wasn’t it?” he asked. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around his stomach. He wasn’t feeling that insecure. It was still strange to have his belly rounding the way it was, but it wasn’t that terrible. And Narcissa was a Healer. If she thought there was something she needed to look at, then Harry should let her.

“I’m still a bit concerned about your weight,” Narcissa said finally. “I know you’ve been taking the nutrient potions as directed, but Harry, you’re just not putting anything on. Are you eating properly?”

“Well, Lady Greengrass interrupted us as we were getting ready to have lunch,” Harry said, joking a bit. When Narcissa didn’t so much as crack a smile, he forced himself to be more serious. “I’m eating as much as I can make myself. I’ve always had trouble with food after…” Harry stopped. He’d never told her about the Dursleys, and he never intended to.

She sighed and waved her wand once more, casting another diagnostic spell. “Well, it’s not too bad right now, but the lingering effects of malnutrition could be disastrous for you in the long run. Once the child is born, would you be willing to switch over to a more intense potion regimen while we try and get you better? I’d say now, but the potions I think we’ll wind up putting you on can be dangerous to the unborn.”

Harry shivered. This time, he didn’t fight the urge to wrap his arms around himself. “I didn’t think there was anything wrong with just being skinny,” he whispered. He didn’t look up at her as he said it.

“There’s nothing wrong with being skinny, no,” Narcissa agreed. She settled on the bed and, when Harry didn’t protest, took his hand in her own. “But you’re not just skinny. You haven’t eaten properly in a long time, and that can do some major damage to your organs. It might have something to do with why your eyesight is so poor, though I admit that I’m reluctant to blame it entirely on that.”

“Okay,” Harry said after swallowing. “I mean, I don’t want to die early because I’m not eating right, so if you say I need to go on stronger potions to get better, then I will. I just…” He couldn’t help but wonder what all of this was doing to Draco’s opinion of him.

If he really was so thin, so malnourished, how could he ever expect his husband to find him attractive? Harry felt like he was more of a drain on Draco than anything else. He got it, he was carrying Draco’s child, but…

Those were ridiculous thoughts, and he knew it. He wasn’t valuable just because of his physical attractiveness. Besides, he’d been just as awful looking when he’d first married Draco. Physical appearances shouldn’t matter.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t feel Draco’s desire for him. He didn’t like to dwell on it, because it made him uncomfortable, but he did feel it.

Narcissa reached out and fluffed his hair with gentle fingers, mussing it like she might have mussed up a young child’s hair. Harry had just a moment to feel patronized before she said, “It will all be fine. I’ll send Draco in as I’m leaving.”

Harry sighed. When she left, he rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes, and wondered if he looked anything like a beached whale. He felt like one, for all that his stomach wasn’t quite as round as it probably would have been if he’d been at a healthy weight when all of this started.

What was wrong with him? He couldn’t help but think that he was being ridiculous. Did he really care about something like appearance?

And hadn’t he been having a good day earlier? Maybe he just needed a nap. Maybe that would help.

Although… he probably should eat first, since he hadn’t done that yet.

And, speaking of, there was a small pop as a house elf appeared in the room. “I’ve brought you lunch,” she said, her voice light and calm. “Master Draco said to bring it here, since the picnic wasn’t going to happen.”

Harry felt tears rise to his eyes and immediately brushed them away with an irritated flick of his fingers. This, he knew, was hormones. It was ridiculous to be so disappointed about something that he’d only known was going to happen for less than fifteen minutes. He was better than this. He’d been doing better than this, anyway.

“Thanks,” Harry said. He took the tray of food, filled with sandwiches and other finger foods that would have been easy to eat in picnic form, and made himself pick up a sandwich. It stuck in his throat as he chewed, but he forced himself to swallow anyway.

He cleared about a third of his plate before giving up and curling up on his side again. He was being stupid, he knew he was, but he couldn’t help it. Here he was, stuck in bed again, for what felt like the rest of his life even though he knew it was only for the day.

His eyes slipped closed and he sighed. And Draco was still out there, probably doing important things, but still. Harry wanted him to come inside, but he refused to try and use the bond to draw Draco in. He was dealing with Astoria’s parents, and that was important. Harry knew that.

He was just being selfish, something that he was trying his hardest not to do.

He sighed and tried to blank out his mind, which was still spinning in stressed out circles. Falling into a light, uneasy sleep was a relief.

ooOOooOOoo

He woke up to feel Draco wrapped around him, warmth and strength and that emotion that Harry wasn’t quite ready to name radiating through the bond they shared. The room was mostly dark, though he could see a bit of light peeking over his shoulder.

Draco was probably reading by the light of his wand, or something like that.

“You awake?” Draco asked. The light went out, then the overhead lights came on, though they were more dim than usual.

Harry let out a small, affirmative sound. He twisted in Draco’s arms and offered him a shy smile. He still had trouble believing that he and Draco were doing so well together, and a part of him expected things to go badly at any point.

But Draco was doing so much better about not walking away from him, and about not shutting down the bond, and Harry was starting to genuinely believe that their relationship could be a true, strong relationship the likes of which he’d never dreamed of when all of this started.

All of his concerns from earlier felt foolish, and he wondered how much of them had been hormones, and how much had been exhaustion. He knew that the baby took more energy from him than he expected, and he had used quite a bit of magic against Lady Greengrass. No wonder he’d been so irrationally upset earlier…

“You were pretty upset earlier,” Draco said, unknowingly giving voice to Harry’s thoughts.. His hands were gentle when he stroked a finger along Harry’s cheek, touching one of the tear tracks left from earlier. “You felt better while you were sleeping, but do you want to talk about it?”

Harry sighed and tilted his hand into the touch. “I just… felt really ugly,” he said, a bit ashamed to say the words out loud. He ducked his head and closed his eyes. In the dark of the room, he didn’t have to look at Draco’s face when he confessed something so utterly ridiculous.

“You felt…” Draco trailed off. His thumb still stroked over Harry’s cheek, the gesture soothing and repetitive. “Harry, I need you to listen to me, and to really believe me when I say what I’m about to say. Can you do that?”

Harry nodded. “I can try,” he said. But that was the best he could do, and Draco probably knew it.

Draco’s lips touched Harry’s, startling him. The touch was warm and soft, and when Draco pulled back, Harry couldn’t help but follow him for more. He probably looked like… The thought cut off when Draco kissed him again, this one longer, his tongue flicking out against Harry’s lips.

“I’ve seen a lot of amazing things in my time,” Draco whispered against his lips when he pulled back. “But Harry, I swear to you, I’ve never seen anything half as amazing as when you knocked Lady Greengrass onto her ass after she attacked you.”

Harry felt his cheeks heating even more, which he hadn’t believed was possible. “You thought it was amazing?” he echoed. He could feel the truth of it in Draco’s words, and it was making his heart flutter.

“The most amazing thing I’d ever seen,” Draco confirmed. “You were gorgeous in that moment, standing against her. I’ve never seen you look so beautiful before.”

Harry shifted forward and buried his head in Draco’s shoulder, his cheeks flaming. Draco, he found, wasn’t wearing a shirt, and so his face was pressed against his bare skin. He shivered in Draco’s arms at the realization. It felt different this time, and he didn’t quite understand why.

He hated that he was so inexperienced when it came to relationships. Dumbledore hadn’t really prepared him for anything other than the war, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, if the old man had ever intended him to survive if the Light had won.

“I’m really fat right now,” Harry mumbled, trying to distract himself from the way that his heart was racing at the thought of Draco being shirtless and wrapped around him. He kept his eyes closed and breathed in, and oh, that was a mistake. Draco smelled… he smelled really good, honestly.

“You couldn’t be fat if you put on an entire other person’s worth of weight,” Draco said, his voice filled with gentle laughter. “You’re pregnant, and it isn’t even like you’re showing that much. Trust me when I tell you that you’re still absolutely gorgeous.”

Harry shivered at the words, heat forming in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah?” he asked. He dared to open his eyes, to look up at Draco, his lips parted. “You really think so?”

“I really do,” Draco confirmed. There was nothing in their bond that suggested that he was lying. Harry could feel the heat coming from Draco, too, and rather than making him warm, it only made him shiver more. “Harry,” Draco started. He stopped, a slight frown coming to his lips. “You feel nervous,” he finally continued.

Harry was nervous. He recognized that he was aroused, that Draco was too, that he wanted… “You know that you were my first, right?” Harry asked. He ducked his head again as he asked it, hiding his face under Draco’s chin. It was easier to talk about it if he wasn’t looking at Draco.

Draco’s arms tightened around him. “I assumed,” he said. “I didn’t know for certain, though. They didn’t exactly tell me a lot about what the ceremony was going to be like. I didn’t even know that we’d have to…” He stopped. “That kind of thing isn’t normal anymore. Not for regular marriages.”

“It was overwhelming, and terrifying, and…” Harry trailed off. It had hurt. He thought he remembered that, although admittedly that memory was a bit blurry now.

“I’m sorry that your first time was like that,” Draco said, and Harry felt that he meant it.

The bond between them was painfully convenient during conversations like this one, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if anything would go nearly so well if they weren’t bonded like they were. It would be so much harder to trust Draco, but since he could feel his sincerity…

“I don’t know if I’m ready to do that again,” Harry said honestly. His body was ready, he could feel it in the way that it got hotter with every passing minute, but he just… his first time had been one of the most terrifying moments of his life, and that included his first duel with Voldemort.

What if it was always like that?

“Then we don’t have to,” Draco said. Harry could feel his disappointment, and he flinched at the weight of it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could, Draco was kissing him, soft and chaste. “I’m disappointed, Harry, of course I am. I enjoy sex. But that doesn’t mean that I want to make you have it when you’re not ready. There are words for that, and those words are ones I would never inflict on you.”

Harry relaxed into Draco, forcing the tension out of his body one muscle at a time. “I love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him before he could force them back. They were true words, anyway, and even though he’d been hesitant to say them, he thought maybe now was the right time.

Draco deserved to know.

Draco’s arms tightened again, then loosened into a much more comfortable hold. “I love you too,” he said. “And I’m very much looking forward to the rest of our lives together.”

“Even when we’re both being woken up at two o’clock in the morning because the baby is crying?” Harry asked. He was pretty sure he’d heard that was a thing, once upon a time.

Draco’s laugh was soft and warm, and the kiss he gave Harry was much the same. “Even then,” he said. “Even if you’re never ready, Harry,” he added, sincerity ringing through the words.

Harry flushed and buried his head in Draco’s shoulder. “Promise?” he asked. He thought that it wouldn’t be a never thing, but he didn’t think that it would be a fast thing. He doubted that he’d be ready before the baby was born, and maybe not for some time after that.

“I promise,” Draco said. Soft lips brushed against the top of his head. “Now, what do you want to do with the rest of your day in bed? I could bring you one of your plant books, or I could find a novel for you to read.”

“That sounds good,” Harry said. “I love you,” he said again, as Draco left the bed.

When Draco returned, two novels in hand, he stole a quick kiss from Harry. “I love you too,” he said, and handed one of the books to Harry.

Harry smiled, opened the book, and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short epilogue to go after this that should be up next week.


End file.
